


Hell And Back

by KivaTaliana



Series: Swings And Roundabouts [4]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, ongoing series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-12
Updated: 2017-10-01
Packaged: 2018-02-12 21:03:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 12
Words: 29,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2124618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KivaTaliana/pseuds/KivaTaliana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On his return Moriarty makes a fateful move taking Greg hostage, while heavily pregnant with his and Mycroft's second child.  It leaves them helpless to act against Moriarty, while at the same time desperately trying to hunt him down to get Greg back.  And when they got him back, would things be the same again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> As usual this story I'm not running it as a straight timeline. It will be explained as I go along.

Anthea was running. Mycroft could hear the click of her heels in the corridor, moving swiftly, quicker than she normally would. From that sound alone Mycroft could deduce the subject matter. He dropped the file he was reading, shut down his laptop and he was on his feet reaching for his coat as she opened the door. She also didn't bother to knock, which further indicated the urgency of her mission. 

Getting up and getting ready might be entirely pointless, what she had to tell him could lead to nothing, and yet another gaping disappointment for him. However, she looked breathless and wide-eyed, which meant he started to shrug on his coat. 

"We've had word through the police, a baby was found abandoned at the York Hospital. The note left with the child indicates it is yours."

He kept the emotion off his face as he felt a painful stab of disappointment. "Just the baby?" 

Anthea nodded. "The note stated that the baby offered proof that Gregory is still alive." 

She spoke carefully, talking about Mycroft's omega in the past tense was something he noticed, and something he did not like. 

"Inform..." 

"I have already phoned Sherlock, he and Dr Watson are on their way. As she is leading the police investigation I also called DI Donovan. Should I inform your parents?" 

"No, not until identity is confirmed. It could be a trick." 

"I've already put that in motion, a swab has already been taken from the baby and it's been given top priority, the omega centre has both you and Gregory on file so the information should be with you by the time you arrive in York." She made it clear the arrangements were already in place, there was no question of Mycroft not following up the lead. 

"If the child is," Mycroft paused and frowned. Anthea knew the question in the pause. 

"Boy." 

"If the boy is mine," Mycroft's eyes closed briefly. "Gregory's. I want to take him immediately." 

"I'm already in process with social services and the omega centre to have the birth certificate and paperwork confirmed, subject to the boy's identification." 

Anthea followed as Mycroft began to walk swiftly down the corridor; again she had to jog, so she could keep up with him. 

"Should the DNA prove the child is not ours, widen the search to try and identify the parents, or at least some part of the breeding line." 

"Of course," Anthea said. "The car is waiting, if I receive any more information I will let you know immediately." 

"Thank you," Mycroft said as he shouldered open the door and strode out to the car park. Anthea pulled out her BlackBerry and stared it, willing it to tell her something of the situation now. Since it remained inactive she presumed they would all have to wait a little while longer. 

XxxxxxxxxxxxxX

The journey to York was silent. Other than Donovan making phone calls to various authorities and organising for the evidence to be ready for her to take none of them bothered to make conversation. Their only communication with each other was when Anthea sent a text to Mycroft, twenty minutes before arriving in York. She had clearly made waves to get the job done as the text merely said. 

'ID confirmed. Custody confirmation in approx 20 mins.'

Mycroft had shown his three companions the phone, and all of them looked increasingly grim. 

"Shit!" Donovan snapped. "In a warped sort of good way." 

When they arrived Mycroft strode into the omega ward, John on his heels. Donovan halted by the Detective Sergeant present at the hospital, who had been left to deal with them. Sherlock hung at her heels, projecting an aggression level worthy of an alpha. 

"We will need the note, the basket the child was left in and any evidence from the scene. I will take the note now, the rest can be packaged and sent to New Scotland Yard for my attention. I want a list now of what you are sending, and I expect it all to arrive," Donovan said. 

"That's not normal procedure." 

"This is not a normal case," Sherlock snarled over Donovan's shoulder. "See that it is done. My brother is not in the best of moods and can make sure your life becomes rather difficult." 

"Sherlock!" Donovan snapped. She put a hand on his arm and drew him away from the officer before she turned to speak to the woman herself. "If you check, you will find that most of the instructions have already been authorised. Should you need further authorisation then call this number. Should you be questioned by your superiors, they can be referred to us, this is our case, and it is now out of your hands." 

The poor Detective Sergeant looked a little shell shocked but she nodded and pulled out her phone, walking away to do as she was told. 

"Sherlock, don't aggravate people, we might need them," Donovan murmur. "If we get something further, we may be able to... localise the search, maybe..." 

"We will not. He probably chose this hospital because it is not in the location he is keeping Lestrade. What we can do is look at the rest of the country and see where might be viable."

"Sherlock, that is not going to help."

"Nothing can," Sherlock hissed at her causing Donovan to jump slightly. "With this threat over his head my brother can do, will do, nothing! Moriarty knows I could not fight him alone and he has crippled my best weapon! Mycroft always said sentiment was not an advantage!" 

"Not always, but now and again it empowers. Think about this. Moriarty wanted to prove that he still has Greg and that he's still alive. Depending on the age of the baby," Donovan said steadily, trying not to think personally. Or take it personally when Mycroft or Sherlock overreacted. The Holmes family were taking the loss of their brood omega very seriously, bringing their castes to the forefront. She had never seen Sherlock so irrational, or at least emotional about it. 

"Lestrade's due date was... two days ago." 

"Okay, so he's still alive."

"At least two days ago."

"All reports said the baby was fine and well, so Greg was well enough to birth, and hopefully well enough to recover."

"He might regret that," Sherlock said. "The other thing Moriarty threatened was removing Mycroft's child, so he could breed on Lestrade. He's a proven breeding omega."

"And if that is his aim then it is in Moriarty's interests to look after him," Donovan said. 

"Yes."

"But an omega that has given birth, does not immediately heat? That's right, isn't it?" 

"He may suffer a Reactionary. There is no scent of the child, no bonding, no feeding."

"Greg can't lactate heavily, will that limit the process?" 

Sherlock started to pace. "He does enough to provide a small feed, which he did with Will, but he did have to supplement. But that will not stop his body from reacting to the absence of his child. There is a bonding period, it should be the first scent the baby picks up, the omega parent."

"What would the baby experience if that doesn't happen?" 

"Not a great deal as far as I know. Too young for psychological problems and food is food. Full-blooded children are raised by parents with latent genes with no problem. The idea is a case of bonding the child to a scent it needs to recognise. Will did so, as he became immediately familiar with Lestrade's scent and therefore associated it with needed comforts such as food and warmth." 

"So if he has a reactionary heat, because he's not with the baby?" 

"No doubt Moriarty will make use of that. If you remember," Sherlock stopped pacing to glare at her. "Lestrade carried Will from a reactionary heat with Mycroft. That is on record and no doubt Moriarty knows that."

"But he hadn't just given birth; he had miscarried, so this time his body will be different. Even if he does heat and... what happens, happens, there will be time. Greg won't have to worry about the baby, he's in with a chance of acting, isn't he?" 

Sherlock moved his gaze out of the window, staring into the middle distance. 

"Moriarty still needs to maintain his dominance over Mycroft and after a period of recovery Lestrade may have time to devise a plan. He is familiar, hopefully, with his environment. The hospital has advised that the child is healthy, so for the last two months Moriarty has kept Lestrade healthy."

"So he could regain strength." 

"Physically, yes," Sherlock mused. "But he has just had a day old child taken from him. Mentally Lestrade may be an entirely different matter. He may have the ability to fight, without the concern of the child being in danger, but his psychological reaction to the separation leads onto two other schools of thought, depending on what Moriarty wants to do; does he prove that the child is safe, or does he hold Greg with the threat?" 

"How has he just become Greg?" Donovan asked. 

"It's shorter than me saying Lestrade," Sherlock stop pacing to inform her, then he carried on talking. 

"Say he is serious about breeding on him, then best to placate him, give him evidence of the child's safety. Then break him; that's easy, he has given Mycroft what he wanted, an alpha child and a second, of a caste yet to be determined. Technically Mycroft only had to allow parental rights for four years for Will, he could choose to extend it, but that naturally happened because of the second child. Mycroft required one and extended to two, but he never changed the contract to secure Greg fully as his omega, you could argue that Greg has served his purpose, Mycroft is not one for letting his feelings show, he may just cut his losses now that Greg is no longer in his custody." 

"Would Greg believe that?" she asked 

"The relationship was hardly conventional, but no, he would not. At least not at the beginning of Moriarty's process. Given time, however, you can make anyone believe anything you want."

"We need to limit the time."

"Moriarty comes back with another threat then he still holds Mycroft hostage." 

"And Mycroft can't move."

"Moriarty keeps me dancing, I can't overplay this either, as much as I can try. There is a limit to what I can do, with this over our heads."

Donovan looked rueful. "We look at the evidence, we look at why the child was left here. Specifically here."

"Northern, it has to be somewhere north but this is the only maternity ward that also has an area dedicated to full bloods. Within the entirety of the north, there is no where else." 

"There are four within the UK, South, North, Scotland and Wales." 

"So even if we assume this is the nearest, does that even begin to limit the search?" Sherlock said. 

Donovan shrugged. "If we make that assumption, then we are looking a quarter of the area we originally assumed. We know some of Moriarty's movements, so can we try cross-referencing some of those cases to see if there is any pattern forming, within that location?"

"It sounds like a very depressing long shot," Donovan added after a pause. Sherlock turned and stared at her, his eyes boring through her. 

"Can you offer me another alternative?" 

Donovan sighed. "No."

XxxxxxxxxxxxxX

Mycroft couldn't sleep, as he walked down the corridor he paused outside his parent’s room, then Gregory's painfully empty room, next to that was the nursery where Nathanial Scott Holmes now slept and then Will's room, from which he could heard crunching and muttering. Will still had a night light in his room and by that light he was trying to beat, break and crush one of his toys, slamming it hard against the floor and using another broken toy to create further damage. Mycroft watched his little son in the wreckage and really couldn't blame him. 

"What are you doing?" 

The fact that Will turned, looked at him and then turned back to what he was doing without contrition spoke volumes. Mycroft walked over and removed the toy from Will's hands, picked him up off the floor and walked across the room to sit on the bed, and put Will on his knee. 

"Want Daddy! Not baby!" that last word spoken with the contempt it was clearly deserving. 

"Want Daddy!" Will added for emphasis. 

'Oh God' Mycroft thought to himself. Outwardly he said, without thinking, 

"So do I." 

His voice, his tone, was so heartfelt that Will stopped sulking and looked up at Mycroft with awe, as if seeing him with entirely new eyes. Mycroft met the gaze, flinching as he saw the innocence return to them. He knew there was damage being done, and he was powerless to stop it. There was no way to stop it, Greg's absence was a rollercoaster of damage and hurt and they were all on it. Mycroft knew he was not the person Will needed and his parents, Mary, John and Sherlock were all doing their best, but they were just not good enough. 

In the aftermath of Greg's disappearance Mycroft had tried nannies and Will knew, just knew something was wrong, he would not tolerate them. John and Mary had been fine, grandparents had been fine, Sherlock was most definitely fine, but no one else, no strangers, were tolerated. 

Once they had heard the news his parents had moved in without question, to look after Will, and Mycroft couldn't fix the damage. He had been left floundering as to how to deal with one son wanting his omega father and another son, now, who had been allowed to be born to give proof of life. Mycroft had wanted to breed to continue his line and he had fulfilled that obligation. On paper, as a logical fact, it had seemed so straightforward, and that part was. It was all the finer details he couldn't do. Will took tight hold of his shirt and shook him. 

"Find Daddy." 

For the first time in his life, Mycroft willingly hugged someone. If nothing else, Will was his closest connection to Greg. Will was an alpha, that was clear, and for those first formative years child alphas claimed their omega parents with their demands and needs. Will wasn't letting go of that, and Mycroft admired him for it. 

"I will," he promised as he stroked his son's soft, downy hair. "If I have to move heaven and hell, and break every natural law, and man made one into the bargain, I will find him!"

As Will snuggled against him it appeared his son was taking him on those words. 

And Will was right to do so.


	2. Chapter One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and John indulge in a little necessary torture.

"Sherlock, enough!" John yelled. Sherlock continued to stare at the house, and then he walked over to the police cars. 

"It's not big enough." 

"What isn't?" John asked. 

"As far as I can tell the inside of this house is not big enough to match the exterior." 

"How is that possible?" 

"I was so sure it was here,” Sherlock said in frustration glaring at the house as if it was about to tell him something. His eyes roved again, and he strode across the grass, trampling a flowerbed as if he didn’t even realise it was there. His whole focus stayed on the building, and his determined belief that it was the place that Moriarty had hidden Greg. They had, however, gone over the house from top to bottom with no sign of the omega. The caretaker they had found tending the house pleaded ignorance. 

Sherlock paced again, paused, looked up and then walked in a circle. John watched him with increasing frustration. The detective's eyes locked on something on the roof, his eyes narrowing and then widening. John turned to direct the collection of police and ambulance men to do something when Sherlock suddenly paced again, looked up, swore and ran back towards the doorway of the house. John paused, frowned, and then followed. He heard the sounds of people following him. 

They all dashed up to the third floor and to a corridor where Sherlock paced along, counting windows.

"There are four rooms." 

"Yes, Sherlock." 

"And this end room only has one window facing front." 

"Yes, Sherlock." 

Sherlock pointed violently to the sidewall. "There is a window on the side wall! Or at least there should have been, it's been bricked up on the outside!" 

"So that is why there isn't one," John pointed out. Sherlock rapped sharply on the wall. It made a hollow knocking sound. 

"Does that sound like brick to you?"

"No." 

"But, there should be bricks. That it the approximate place where the brick are, blocking the window. But bricks," Sherlock knocked again. "Don't sound like that!"

"Meaning there is a space beyond that. But it doesn't look big enough."

"Big enough to lead to the attic," Sherlock said. "We need a helicopter to look properly, I am fairly certain I can see a satellite dish up there, what would be the point of that." 

"There are televisions in the house." 

"They don't have satellite channels," an officer announced, running up the stairs, having clearly been directed to check. Sherlock raised his eyebrows. 

"So why have a dish, why up there. Surely the side of the house would have been easier, unless you didn't want it noticed."

"You noticed it," John said with a shrug. 

"I'm observant. And look at the rest of the house. It looks like a museum, quite frankly he hardly dusts anything, and the curtains look like they haven't been washed in decades. If he is the caretaker of this house, he isn't doing much of a job, unless he is caretaking something else entirely. The roof is expansive and would make a fairly sizeable living area."

"Are you seriously suggesting he has secreted Greg in the attic?!" John asked as Sherlock swept out of the room, glanced at the room opposite the one he was in and then glared at the end of the corridor. He paced slowly towards it running his hands over the wall, looking for something, anything of note. John slipped into the room Sherlock had pointed out and opened the door of a cupboard in one corner. He eased several coats aside while he heard Sherlock kick the wall in frustration. 

"Sherlock?" John asked tentatively. 

He came striding back, and with no reserve whatsoever grabbed the coats and hurled them out of the cupboard. John slid the back of the cupboard sideways to expose the door behind. A very solid looking door, a keypad sitting to one side. 

"Now that is a door," Sherlock said. "Almost like a safe." 

"Not very safe," John mused, slowly crouching down and moving several pairs of musty, old shoes, some of which didn't even match, something which wouldn't have been noticed at a quick glance and had probably been put there to make the wardrobe look like nothing more than a wardrobe. John looked at the wires that ran around the door.

"At a rough guess, I would say this is rigged to explode."

"Where? Here or up there?" 

"Can't tell you that," John said. "I was around them a bit but I never worked with bomb disposal."

"But what would be the point of protecting something like this, unless you really wanted people to keep out." 

"It was almost impossible to find Sherlock, why rig it?" 

"If you wanted to deter people from trying to get in, or people trying to get out."

John sighed. 

"Jane Eyre," Sherlock said. 

John looked up, "what?" 

"That stupid sentence Moriarty quoted. It's from Jane Eyre, where a secret is hidden in the attic. A person locked away, almost forgotten. 'In the deep shade, at the farther end of the room, a figure ran backwards and forwards.' It's from Jane Eyre." 

"How did you work that out?" 

"A good deal of reading," Sherlock said, sounding as if it was the most exhausting thing in the world. "I was trying to work out what on earth it meant, but it's the first sight Jane has of Rochester's wife." 

"How could we have ever worked out something that obscure?" 

"Because I was meant to, in this house, I was meant to." 

"And now we have, how the hell do we get in. I suppose we could get the bomb squad to secure it." 

"No time," Sherlock said. "Someone knows the combination to that keypad. It certainly uses and 8, 4 and 2, but we need more information than that." 

"I somehow get the feeling it's not that man's measurements." 

Sherlock spun on his heel and stared down at John. "However, he knows the answer. We need it. Give me your gun." 

There was something in Sherlock's tone that made John hand it over without a word. Sherlock strode from the room and went down the corridor purposefully, heading down the stairs. John hurried after him. 

"You're not planning to shoot him in the head?" 

Sherlock swept across the first floor landing and down the curving staircase, coattails flapping while his hands competently checked over John's gun. He didn't turn to look at him as he said, quite sharply. 

"I shoot people in the head when I want them to be silent." 

John had a second to concede that point. 

"And I want this man to talk. Kneecaps are probably quite good." 

"As are feet," John added. "And hands maybe?" 

Again Sherlock trampled across the flowerbeds, which were slightly overgrown, to get the cars waiting in the driveway. The caretaker in question sat in the back of a car, the door still open. Two police officers flanked the door. The man sat there looking supremely confident, which annoyed Sherlock to an immense degree. He stopped dead six foot away from the car.

"John." Sherlock didn't look up at the request. 

As if he had anticipated Sherlock stopping dead John moved around him gracefully and went to the car. In a second he had grabbed hold of the caretaker’s shoulders and hauled him out of the car, dragging him onto the grass so he landed on his back. John held him down, while he struggled and kicked. Sherlock grabbed his left calf and everyone jumped as the gun went off and the man followed up by screaming and screaming. 

"Could you dress that?" Sherlock asked a lingering paramedic calmly. Her eyes were wide as she watched him but she ran to gather what she needed, putting bandages on to slow the bleeding and at Sherlock's request she gave the man a painkiller to ease the shock enough to keep him lucid. 

"Surely you are meant to ask him something first Sherlock," John chastised as that whole palaver went on. 

"Which would involve bandying threats and eventually I would have to shoot him. I think we need to speed the process up a little." 

"We still need him sensible enough to talk," John said looking down at the man, eyeing the paramedics work carefully. 

"The painkiller should work soon enough," Sherlock said. "Like now. And you know what we want to know, we have found the door, I want the combination and I will continue this, until I get the answer." 

The man glared up at him, teeth clenched tightly, nostrils flaring as he gasped for breath. The paramedic finished patching him up and the girl slunk back, away from the scene. Sherlock eyed the police officers carefully. 

"You could also call in someone from the bomb squad, just in case, and a helicopter, we can try accessing from the roof." 

The man sprawled on the ground laughed, wheezing with pain as he did so. 

"Entry from the roof rigged?" Sherlock asked him. 

"Maybe."

"John, hand, right index finger." 

The man screamed again as John obligingly broke the finger. 

"Middle finger as well," Sherlock added, and another snap and scream followed. The man rolled his eyes, gasping through the pain. John kept him pinned, and the caretaker looked up at Sherlock and then around at the officers standing and watching impassively. 

"No use turning to them," Sherlock said with a twisted smirk. "They were chosen very carefully. Full-bloods, all of them. Alphas, and Betas."

"Erm... sorry..." the female paramedic raised her hand tentatively. "Omega. But the idea is... probably right." 

Sherlock smirked at her, and then turned back to the caretaker. 

"And an omega," Sherlock corrected himself. "But Full-Bloods all the same, and therefore rather anxious about a possible omega in distress, one who is contracted to a man who literally runs the British Government, and this man wants his omega back. We're here to achieve that aim, and I'm the man for that."

"This one isn't full-blooded," the caretaker snarled, glaring at John. 

"No, he's latent, but his daughter is a full-bloodied omega, and so do you think he likes people who abuse omegas? Plus he's an army medic, which is sort of a contradiction in terms,” Sherlock rambled. “And he has something of a temper, a very well controlled, calculating one. He's a doctor he knows how to heal people and he knows that because he knows how to hurt them. Now, we've established that we intend to hurt you, until we get that code from you."

"I know your options. You've got to get it from me, or try and get through the fail-safes. You can't achieve either! How long do you think you have?"

Sherlock smiled, this time looking almost congenial. "Thank you," he said politely. "That clearly establishes that what we want is up there, safely contained, at least for now. But you are here, employed by Moriarty to look after Greg. Moriarty is contained by us, mainly by my brother, so he is not coming here any time soon. Therefore you, or us, are the only people that can get through that door and to the omega kept within." 

The caretaker glared at him. Sherlock crouched down, putting his hand on the caretaker's knee, he groaned as he felt the pressure. 

"Now, I doubt after all this time Moriarty wants Greg damaged, otherwise he would not have been so careful in keeping him concealed, and safe. So, if this goes wrong, I could leave you to my brother's mercies and let him pick the flesh off your bones, and he will probably want to do so, but what he might do, is wait until you are healed and then put you into Moriarty's cell.” 

Sherlock watched the man’s face carefully, and despite being screwed up with pain, his eyes widened. It was something to consider, if Moriarty had gone to the lengths he had to keep Greg contained and safe, as a hostage, and possibly more, then it was up to this man to keep him alive. It was something of a bluff, Moriarty had enough of a contrary nature that he might be entirely happy to let Greg rot, the satisfaction of watching them try to find him was probably amusing to him. Although, that probably depended on what state Greg was in. Sherlock didn't feel like contemplating that.

Instead he focused on the man's face, watching the conflict within it. He squeezed the man's knee again, just for emphasis. 

"What shall we damage next? Is it possible to shoot someone's testicle off?" 

John shrugged. "I can't say, Sherlock, that I have ever tried it. The blood loss might be a problem though, plus the shock." 

"So we need a knife really?" Sherlock asked conversationally. 

"I've got one," an officer announced. Sherlock turned to watch the man in question fumble in his pocket, producing a small knife, he unfolded the blade and held it out. "I don't know how sharp it is though." 

"I suppose is could do the job. Do you carry scalpels?" Sherlock asked the paramedic. She blinked, shifting a little uncomfortably. Sherlock shrugged. "Never mind, this should do." 

He could feel the caretaker writhing underneath him, and John increased the pressure to hold the man down. 

"You wouldn't dare!" the man snapped. Sherlock turned to glare down at him, his eyes fixed and cold. 

"Oh, I do dare. You quite clearly have no idea what any of us are truly capable of. Nobody knows what they might be capable of until they get a set of circumstances in which to find out. I've had several occasions to find that out about myself, and in this situation I am very capable of hurting you, and maiming you, until you tell me what I want to know."

As he talked Sherlock pulled on the man's belt, releasing the buckle and yanking down his trousers. The man gave a futile kick, his breathing deepening in panic. He looked around again, quite a few people now were watching Sherlock with fascinated horror, but none of them made a single move to intervene. John felt the man shudder as he gave a sob of shock. Sherlock carried on stripping the man's lower half and the caretaker desperately tried to put his undamaged hand over his genitals. John grabbed his wrist and pulled it away. The man began to whimper. 

"Maybe I should wear gloves," Sherlock mused. 

"8, 4, 2, 3, 2, 7, 8, 8." The man whimpered. He repeated the series of numbers several times as John and Sherlock released him and ran off. The man kept talking, instinctively putting his good hand back over his groin, even though he hardly seemed to notice that John had let him go. He lay on the ground forgotten by the pair as they hurtled into the house, intent on their mission. 

As they reached the secure door again Sherlock's hand lingered over the keypad. 

"He could be lying," John said. Sherlock glanced at him. 

"Did he seem like he was?" 

John shrugged at that and Sherlock typed the numbers in, inhaling heavily as he pressed the last 8. A second later the door gave a heavy click and they both pounced on it, fumbling to open it, when they got it open far enough they went charging in, looking around as the lights in the little hallway flickered on. To their left a staircase went upwards into the attic. Sherlock went first, running up and pausing in the corridor. 

"Sherlock?" John said as he peered through a door. It caused Sherlock to tense as he saw the contents of the room.

"Let's find him." 

Sherlock shot off, while John looked around the first room, then he went to the opposite door and flung it open. No sooner had he done that he heard Sherlock's urgent voice from further down the corridor. 

"John!"


	3. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll let you off that little cliff-hanger, but as I am away for a bit, anything further will have to wait.

Sherlock ran over the quote Moriarty had used, hinting that what they wanted was in an attic, huddled some distance away. So he went to the rooms at the far end of the corridor. As he stepped closer to the last door on the left he picked up the scent of omega, and he flung the door open, crashing into the room. 

The figure on the bed tensed, but other than that stayed unresponsive, with his back to the door. Sherlock, however, recognised him. If nothing else, the scent was clear enough. 

"Greg!" Sherlock walked around the bed, slowing down as he saw the figure flinch again. Although his eyes moved to glance at Sherlock it was the only response Greg gave. Sherlock crouched next to him, looking him over, gaze lingering on the cuff around his ankle, from which a chain ran to secure Greg to the bedstead, then as he moved up Sherlock's gaze lingered on Greg's distended belly. Sherlock blinked, and shook his head, it was a concern, but not the primary one. 

"Greg?" Sherlock tried again, reaching up to put a hand on the omega's shoulder, getting no response. "Gavin?" 

Sherlock gave an inward smirk; that worked, Greg's eyes flickered down to him, a momentary flash of irritation entering them, until Greg started backwards, but his eyes remained focused on the scene, rather than losing themselves to the middle distance. 

"John!" Sherlock called out, raising his voice but not shouting. He heard the sound of him running down the corridor, and Greg rolled his eyes, almost turning his head but hesitating at the last moment. Sherlock stayed crouched next to him, cupping Greg's chin to keep him focussed. "It's just John. You're fine Greg, you're safe." 

Sherlock couldn't blame him for the sceptical look, which also held some suspicion. Greg jumped again as John dashed into the room and then skidded to a halt. 

"It's just John," Sherlock reiterated. Greg blinked, looking as if he didn't entirely understand, until John appeared in his line of sight. John looked Greg up and down, eyes lingering on the swell of his belly, before he looked quickly away, and Sherlock drew his attention. "I think he's fine, but..." 

But Sherlock wasn't the doctor, John was. John glanced down at the cuff around Greg's ankle. 

"Get that off him," he ordered Sherlock. Sherlock nodded, getting up from his position by Greg and he looked over the padlock keeping the shackle around Greg's leg. John crouched down. Greg watched the interaction mutely, eyes wide, and somewhat wild. 

Sherlock pulled out his lock picks and went to work on the padlock, he tried to avoid touching Greg's skin after the first time when his hand lightly brushed Greg’s ankle bone and Greg flinched. 

"Greg?" John said, gently taking hold of him, only to have him cringe again, he blinked rapidly, fear crossing over his features and he looked from John to Sherlock seeming to hardly comprehend what was going on. 

"Greg, look at me," John commanded, it brought Greg's attention back to him, and he eyed him warily. "Are you all right? Are you injured?" 

Greg shook his head, just slightly. John didn't know which question that answered, or maybe it was both of them. He clearly wasn't himself, but didn't look to be physically damaged. Ignoring the fact that Greg flinched as he worked, John quickly looked him over, as best he could. Sherlock unsnapped the padlock and released the shackle from Greg's ankle, dropping it onto the end of the bed. 

"Can you sit up?" John asked, slowly easing Greg into a sitting position. He went with the encouragement, still hardly responding, John almost moving Greg’s limbs for him. Greg’s eyes continued to drift between the pair of them, a frown ghosting across his features. He stayed pliant, and silent, as John got him into a sitting position and then looked around. Greg tensed as he heard footsteps in the corridor. John kept hold of his wrists, as gently as he could, to keep his patient from moving. Sherlock was up and to the door in a second, he stuck his head out and looked at the officers who had followed them up. 

“Found him, we’ll bring him down ourselves, you wait outside. Get that man away from here, and we’ll need another ambulance for Greg.” 

The older officer of the pair nodded, and they both turned away, one talking on the radio to issue the orders. They certainly couldn’t put Greg in the same ambulance as the caretaker, if needs be they could transport Greg by car, he seemed physically unhurt. Sherlock swept back into the room. 

“Check the wardrobe, we need to get him dressed, we certainly need some shoes,” John ordered. Greg had partly turned his head to watch Sherlock’s movement across the room to the large wardrobe, he flung it open and frowned. 

There were certainly clothes in it, and presumably they fitted, but Sherlock found no shoes, or coats, or anything that indicated that Greg had left the small attic apartment since he had been put in it. The pallor of his skin remained a clear indication of that. Quite often the omega’s skin had been tanned, and he certainly seemed to glow with a level of health. Now he looked overly pale, and had clearly lost some weight. 

In the end they had to make do with a pair of slippers, although they jammed two pairs of socks onto his feet beforehand. Greg, slowly, seemed to understand what they were doing, and attempted to help, but his hands shook too much for any assistance he gave to be effective. The best he could do was stay still and allow them to work. Once they had got him into a sweatshirt Sherlock pulled off his coat, and scarf, and added them to the layers, wrapping them around Greg, before they added a blanket. 

“Since they do that for shock,” Sherlock muttered, sounding baffled. 

“I think this is more than shock, Sherlock,” John hissed, which caused another flicker of tension in Greg. As far as John could tell the omega seemed entirely aware of what was going on around him, but he didn’t want to interact with it, finding it far easier to just let them get on without a contribution from him. 

“Yes,” Sherlock said. John slowly stood up and took Greg’s arm. He resisted slightly, hunching his shoulders as John tried to make him stand up. 

“Can’t you walk?” John asked. 

Sherlock watched the emotions on Greg’s face, and moved to Greg’s other side, taking his arm. 

“Come on Graham!” Sherlock announced briskly. John glared at him but it had the desired effect. Greg dropped his hunched shoulders and allowed Sherlock, who was stronger than he looked, to pull him to his feet. John frowned curiously, but Sherlock gave the slightest shake of his head, to hint that any comments could be left for a moment.

Sherlock got him moving, but John took over to keep Greg steady as he walked. He kept his head down, staring intently at his feet as he walked, although as they reached the door at the end of the corridor, Greg slowed down. Sherlock turned himself to block Greg's view of the room, and he kept a firm grip of his arm. 

"Keep moving." 

After a few seconds of attempting to stare into the room, something that Sherlock moved to prevent, Greg dropped his head and allowed them to continue to lead him down the stairs. He wobbled on the way, his feet unsteady as he went downwards. Sherlock went ahead of him, John stayed behind, both supporting him as they eased him down. 

The entire journey through the house was made like that. They supported him, led him along and kept him moving, increasing the encouragement when they felt him hesitate. Greg didn't speak, and the only indication he gave to show any awareness of them was his willingness to follow their gentle instructions. John and Sherlock shared glances, trying to communicate their concern, neither of them sure if Greg really recognised them, or was merely following their orders because that was probably what he had done over the last year. 

As they reached the front door, Greg almost dug his heels in, staring at the open space beyond with wide eyes. As they locked eyes, John and Sherlock stopped by mutual agreement rather than trying to push Greg over the threshold. Instead they let him look at the outside world, which he hadn't seen for months, Sherlock surmised. He held onto Greg, so he couldn't retreat and John did the same. 

Greg took several deep breaths, eyes fixed on the garden beyond the doorway. As John felt Greg give a violent hitching breath he started to run his other hand up and down Greg's back. 

"You're with us, you're fine."

Quite clearly, it wasn't fine, but inch by inch they coaxed him over the threshold into the outside air. Greg squinted his eyes as he looked up at the sun. Sherlock looked around, the ambulance had gone, taking away the caretaker, who would no doubt eventually find himself locked up in a less congenial cell than the attic. Despite the home furnishings Sherlock had no doubt that was exactly what the attic was, but it was what Greg had known for months, possibly the entire time he had been kept hostage. As they eased Greg down the steps they felt him sag slightly. 

"Shit!" John swore under his breath. 

"Bench over there," Sherlock told him, having spotted the small stone bench partially hidden by the overgrowing foliage. John frowned but let Sherlock lead the way. One of the younger officers hanging around the front of the house saw their intended destination and started some impromptu weeding, pulling nettles away from the bench, leaving some of the bindweed tangled around the legs, but taking anything harmful away. The act prompted a 'thank you' from Sherlock, which, however curtly delivered, was a clear courtesy. They put a wavering Greg down on the bench, and he put his head down, staring at the floor. Despite the warmth of the sun he quivered slightly and almost went into orbit as another ambulance hurtled down the lane, lights and siren on. 

An officer waved them down but it was the final shock. 

"Sherlock!" 

Greg slumped and Sherlock caught him before he fell from the bench. Between them John and Sherlock held him steady while the paramedics jumped out. Greg gave several hitching breaths, indicating he was close to panic. Sherlock cradled the back of Greg's head and pushed Greg's face into the crook of his neck. 

"Stay with me, Gordon!" 

Greg hissed, but kept breathing steadily. 

"Will you get his name right?!" 

"I am," Sherlock said to John. "Do you not think for one moment that Moriarty has played enough mind tricks on him to completely warp his reality, and my baseline scent might be enough to make this real for him. Deep breaths," Sherlock ordered the omega still breathing into his neck. "But one thing I am sure Moriarty doesn't know about is my predisposition for getting his name wrong."

The paramedics hesitated as Greg latched his hands onto Sherlock clinging tightly. 

"Sedate him," Sherlock ordered curtly, reaching out to hold Greg as tightly as he was clinging onto Sherlock. 

"Are you sure?" John asked. 

Sherlock looked down at the omega lying against him. He looked back up again and sighed. 

"It's the kindest way." 

And it was. Greg sleeping through his transportation to the hospital was the best thing. Him staying asleep until the one thing he needed was present was the best thing, and speaking of which... Sherlock reached for his phone, pressed a button and heard it ring at the other end, just for one fraction of a second before it was picked up. 

"Found him," he told Mycroft.


	4. Chapter Three

The blur of his removal from the house had been lost to Greg as he woke, but he noted that he felt oddly comfortable. His first thought was that Moriarty had returned, which always meant a change in circumstances. 

Then he took a sharp breath and opened his eyes, staring at a clean, white ceiling and he winced at the bright light. Surprised by the clear change in his environment he sat up sharply. 

Movement on his right drew his attention. Mycroft stopped writing and put his notebook to one side. His laptop rested on a nearby table. He stood up and carefully eased Greg back down onto the bed. Greg acquiesced staring up at him, concluding that he was not hallucinating. Therefore, he hadn't hallucinated Sherlock and John. 

"Gregory?" Mycroft asked as Greg eyed him blankly for thirty-four seconds. He jumped as Mycroft's hand tightened on his arm. Seeing the reaction Mycroft retreated, only to have Greg attempt to grab him. Mycroft brought his arm back into range and after checking that the IV drip in Greg's hand remained stable he gently re-established his grip on Greg's forearm. 

"Gregory?" 

Greg took another calming, slightly hitching, breath. He took in the clean, tidy room, sterilized smell and the hold Mycroft had on his arm. His eyes focused on his alpha and he frowned. 

"Why do you always write things by hand when you have a laptop?" 

If Mycroft found the query peculiar he gave no indication. 

"I prefer it." 

Greg blinked, the calm, reasonable explanation settled his mind, bringing him into reality far enough to ask something a little more relevant. 

"Where am I?" 

"The omega centre, London," Mycroft told him leaning over to press the bell with his free hand. Greg watched him warily. 

"I just need to call the doctor."

"How long have I been here? What about Mori....?" Greg stopped talking, breath hitching again. 

"Just a day," Mycroft said. "In custody and not getting out."

"He told you where I was?"

"No, John and Sherlock were looking for clues at the house when Sherlock saw the discrepancy in the building and found the hidden rooms."

Greg closed his eyes. Mycroft's hand moved further up his arm. Either Moriarty was sure that Mycroft would release him, or Moriarty had some way of getting out, or at least ordering Greg to be moved. Then again would he care enough about the child in Greg's belly, or prefer the revenge of having Mycroft frustrated over the location of his omega. There were probably other permutations that Greg's mind couldn't yet think of but the ones he had fluttered violently around his head, only interrupted as he heard soft footsteps entering the room. 

He tensed, eyes flashing open. Mycroft's hand kept him in place. The youthful man by the door wore a nurse's uniform. He blinked and gazed at Mycroft with a slight trace of awe that randomly annoyed Greg for a moment. It caused him to move slightly and the nurse's attention turned to him, which meant he realised the reason for Mycroft ringing the bell. 

"I'll inform the doctor." 

Mycroft gave a curt nod. 

"The doctor heard the bell," a female voice announced, and the nurse stepped back to allow her through the door. "Thank you," she added. 

Greg tensed further, eyes shifting around the room, eyeing the equipment, the doctor and Mycroft warily. Part of his remaining logic told him he was perfectly safe, but logic had not exactly been a part of his life over the last year. He started to wonder if the whole thing was another elaborate plan of Moriarty's.

"Gregory, it's fine," Mycroft said. 

Sensing the tension the doctor shooed the nurse out. Greg tried to level his breathing as the doctor approached slowly, moving around Mycroft who staunchly stayed at the side of the bed. The doctor checked the drip and then eased back around Mycroft to go to the far side of the bed. Mycroft eyed her with some irritation. 

"Sorry, I didn't want to lean over you," she told Greg. As he nodded, inhaling sharply, he picked up the scent of omega. Mycroft said nothing, keeping hold of Greg's arm as both of them watched the doctor remove the stethoscope from around her neck. 

"Are you in any pain?" she asked Greg. He shook his head, almost frantically. Mycroft's jaw tensed. There weren’t any current wounds on Greg, but he had examined the scars that covered his body. Doing so while his omega was unconscious was probably not ethical, but it seemed the best course of action and he could deduce from what he saw what was used and how much pain it might have caused. One of them worried him immensely, but he wasn't going to confront Greg about any of it for the moment. 

"Let me just check the basics," she asked checking his heart rate and moving on. She occasionally asked questions but it seemed clear enough that Greg was not physically in any discomfort. Mycroft said nothing, listening intently.

"You seem fine, physically," she said. Greg's free hand drifted to the swell of his navel. 

"What about the baby?" 

She looked slightly startled and turned to Mycroft. Greg looked up at him with panic forming in his eyes. 

"A scan may be wise," Mycroft said. "Has one been done before now?" he directed his question to Greg, in an uncommonly gentle tone. 

Greg didn't answer but tension crossed over his features. The doctor took over. 

"I can arrange for one to be done in the morning, and unless we find anything to worry about, we can discharge him. I presume you would..." she looked at Greg and then turned her attention to Mycroft. "I presume he would feel better at home?" 

"Yes."

The doctor nodded, and like many of her caste, she knew when to retreat. Mycroft ran his hand across Greg's hair and then cupped his cheek, unsurprised when Greg tilted his head and pressed his nose against Mycroft's wrist to inhale his scent. Mycroft watched Greg's eyelids flutter as he desperately took in the alpha's pheromones. At the same time Mycroft turned his head, hearing the sound of voices in the corridor. He moved his arm slightly, which caused Greg to react. Mycroft turned back, looking at Greg's pale face and anxious eyes. 

"It's all right. I had presumed that you would have woken earlier."

Greg shrank back as Mycroft carefully extracted himself from Greg's grip, so he gripped onto the pristine white covers instead, watching as Mycroft went to the door, preparing to head off the visitors. 

"He's only just woken." 

"Is he all right?" 

"As can be expected," Mycroft said curtly. "Let's just... yes." 

Greg's hands tightened further as Mycroft stepped back, and Greg wondered how to demand him back to his bedside. It was unnecessary in the end as Mycroft returned and allowed Greg's hand to latch on again. However, his grip slackened as two figures appeared in the doorway. Greg met the eyes so similar to his own as Will, clutching Bee and holding Sherlock's hand, appeared in the doorway. He yanked Sherlock along, which the detective allowed until Will reached the bed and he let go to start scrabbling up onto the bed. 

"Here," Sherlock said picking up the boy and dumping him on the bed. 

"Mind the drip," Mycroft warned. Sherlock dumped Will on the far side, while the little boy stared at Greg and then gasped. 

"Not allowed shoes on the bed!" Will yelped. 

Greg's mind filtered through a memory of him telling Will off when he found him jumping on the bed while still wearing his boots. Sherlock shrugged, grabbed Will's ankles one by one and pulled his trainers off, dropping them on a nearby chair. 

"There you go," Sherlock said. 

Will ignored him, instead he scrabbled up the bed to Greg's side, hesitating slightly as his eyes assessed Greg's swollen belly, then he crawled further up to latch his hands onto Greg's hospital gown, laying his head on Greg's shoulder and sprawling next to him. 

"Daddy! Daddy! Daddy!" his voice whispered fiercely, repeating himself over and over. Greg stayed startled and tense for a few seconds before instinct took over, raising something that had lain dormant for months. He moved his arm, almost struggling to remember how, wrapping it tightly around Will's sturdy body. As he did so he felt the increase in weight of Will's body, he seemed heavier, and taller as he had scrabbled to get on the bed. It had been over a year, Greg realised, almost a quarter of Will's life. 

"Daddy!" 

Will eventually ran out of steam. He went silent but continued to cling to Greg. In response, Greg buried his nose into Will's hair, taking in his scent, the growing alpha scent that Greg hadn't thought he would smell again. It fired through his brain, and his breaths instinctively got deeper. 

Mycroft and Sherlock hadn't moved, they stayed back from the unfolding scene, mutually aware that it was probably one of the best ways to get Greg to respond. In the end their eyes met and Mycroft gave a curt nod. Sherlock backed towards the door and lifted his hand, waving to the others in the corridor, some he indicated forward. John and Mary he ordered to stay at the back. As much as they were Greg's friends, there were other important factors. 

Greg lifted his eyes and his grip tightened on Will as the rest of the party appeared in the doorway. Will didn't move, his senses completely focused on Greg, which meant he knew, and trusted, who was nearby. Greg felt less trusting, but as Mycroft's parents appeared his senses told him the situation was safe. However, his anxiety skyrocketed as he looked at the little boy carried by Mycroft's mother. Mycroft picked up the reaction immediately, moving closer to Greg's side. He first put a hand on Will's head, who glanced up at him, before he moved to brush his fingers over Greg's hair. 

Despite the reassurance, Greg's remained tense, staring at the little boy, who sat in his grandmother's arms looking around with interest. His eyes looked to be similar in colour to Mycroft's, and his hair colour certainly holding a hint of his alpha father's. Nathanial stared at his older brother on the bed, and then regarded Greg with some curiosity. The little boy reached out and almost automatically his grandmother started to put him down. 

"Not at the moment," Mycroft said, his voice low, but it was a tone that expected to be obeyed. His mother stared at him in shock, but she backed up in such a way that Greg decided it was not the first time Mycroft had asserted his authority. Greg dropped his head to take in Will's scent again. 

"That's more than enough," Mycroft said, even though it had been no more than a few minutes. Again he caught Sherlock's eye and silently the two brothers mutually decided to clear the room. Sherlock went for Will's trainers, and muttered to his father, who then started easing his wife from the room. Will stubbornly clung on, Mycroft pulled him back a little but didn't extract will fully, but he made sure he had his son's attention. 

"Daddy needs to rest," Mycroft asserted calmly. "And Daddy will be home tomorrow. I'm going to stay here and look after him, and I'll be with him all the time. I promise." 

Greg, still holding Will, watched the little boy's face change. He utterly believed Mycroft, he turned to look at Greg, and wriggled on the bed to hug him again before allowing Mycroft to put him on his feet. Sherlock held Will's trainers in one hand, planning to put them on in a less fraught environment. Greg watched as Will briefly clung to Mycroft and then let Sherlock take his hand, as he took two steps, he saw his discarded cuddly toy on the bed. Wrenching his hand from Sherlock's he grabbed the cuddly bee and trotted back up to the head of the bed, putting Bee on the covers by Greg's side. Will's eyes were damp with tears as he stared up at him, pushing Bee against his father's side. 

"You have Bee!" 

Mycroft helped Will tuck the toy against Greg's side, and he carefully wrapped his arm around it, pulling it close and dropping his head to push his face into the plush fur. Whether it was a deliberate action or not on Will's part, the cuddly toy was heavily laced with his scent, and just after he had been kidnapped it had been covered in Greg's scent, which was why the toy hadn't been washed in all that time. Mycroft had refused when his mother had suggested it. 

"That's good William," Mycroft said. "It will make Daddy feel better. Now, you go, and you'll see Daddy tomorrow." 

Will stared intently at his father before reaching up to pat Greg's leg gently, then he allowed Sherlock to take him from the room. Mycroft carefully straightened the bedding around Greg. Greg watched him steadily, his nose pressed into the cuddly toy. 

"I'm sorry. I had hoped to have prepared the ground a little before they descended on you. Still, if we can take you home tomorrow, then you will see them then." 

Greg's eyes stayed on him, and he nodded slowly before lifting his face from Bee.

"Since when do you make promises?" 

Mycroft, again, didn't react to the question Greg put to him, other than to answer it. 

"Since I promised William I would find you, whatever I had to do to do so. Do you want some water?" 

Greg shook his head and stuck his nose back into Bee, and Mycroft foisted water on him anyway, and made good on his second promise to his son.


	5. Chapter Four

With Greg now safely tucked away at home Mycroft could turn his attention, momentarily, to a side matter. He still had many issues to deal with, but he was hoping this might bring his thoughts round to some solutions. 

Mycroft stood in the corridor of the attic, alone. He had wanted no one here while he looked through the rooms. DI Donovan had been with the forensics team when they had gone over the area, and the report had arrived swiftly on Mycroft's desk, the details now embedded into his brain. However, the mere facts on paper were not enough for him, he didn't just want to know what science would tell him, his imagination wanted a look in. 

He knew that many people thought he completely lacked imagination, and had no ability to appreciate anything on a deeper psychological level. It was not something people saw, and that worked to his advantage, so he never bothered to correct anyone. There was no need for that, Mycroft didn't need to tell anyone what he saw, what he knew, and how all the little connections snapped together in his mind. It was why he was so good at what he did. Layers of facts and information could be placed in front of him, no one would see the connections; but he saw, he looked, he put them together in a way that no one would see, but made utter sense. His mind was unique, and better than Sherlock's, because he didn't just live by facts, he used his imagination. Sherlock used emotion, but Mycroft, clinically, put his imagination to use. 

Using his imagination when it came to Gregory was not hard. He had analysed every permutation before he had offered the contract. Gregory was a good omega and even if he had refused Mycroft's contract, he would have helped carefully negotiate something else for him. 

He was such a good omega that he had done everything that had been asked of him, when he had been locked into these rooms. He would not have put himself, and Nathanial - when Greg had been carrying him - in danger. But Nathanial had been taken away, not even a day old and he had been dumped as a warning and a message. Mycroft turned his head and looked at the first room, the one that everyone had looked at and assumed the worst. 

Of course they would. It was clinical, and cold, set up for child bearing. The stirrups would have held Gregory's feet in place, while Nathanial slid from him. Mycroft could easily presume there were no complications with the birth. Greg was ripe as a brood omega; even the stress of his current pregnancy hadn't affected the child. It was hearty and healthy within him. Greg would rather die than allow any child to be hurt. 

Mycroft could work deeper. The restraints on the metal bench told him that this was also where Moriarty impregnated Gregory. A stressed, heated, omega was a difficult thing to deal with. Mycroft worked to calm Gregory, his scent worked, to keep his omega to heel, and he had done so for several of Gregory's heats. Anything new would have scared the life out of him.

Plus, however much his body had probably demanded satisfaction his mind would have been of a differing opinion. They had found DNA evidence from both Gregory and Moriarty within this room, so Mycroft had no doubt about what had happened, and presumably the child within Gregory would also have been birthed in the same room. 

Mycroft swiftly left, he didn’t need his imagination working in that room. It didn’t take much effort and the images were more than a little disturbing. Instead he moved back into the corridor. The kitchen lay opposite to the birthing room, a sturdy lock on the door. Clearly it was a room Gregory had not been allowed access to. Maybe because of the possibility of items being used as weapons, or to limit his access to food, or perhaps both. A hatch in the wall linked the kitchen to the room next door, set up as a dining room. There was evidence that Gregory had used that room, including a cuff which could chain someone to the table. Mycroft eyed the shackle with distaste before moving on. 

The bathroom was next on his tour. Again there was a heavy lock on the door, similar to the kitchen, which again meant that Gregory had only been given access when it was deemed necessary. Mycroft clenched his jaw. Having also just found a small cupboard which contained all the necessary cleaning supplies, the locks on specific rooms no doubt had less to do with keeping any potential weapons away from the omega, and more to do with subduing him by keeping basic needs out of his control. He could only eat, bathe, and even use the toilet when it had been allowed by his captor.

Mycroft didn’t linger in the first bedroom, which the caretaker had used, and there was another bedroom, sparse and clean. At the very end of the corridor Mycroft looked from one door to the other, at the two rooms facing each other. One was clearly the nursery, where the baby would be kept, at least for some time. The other was Gregory’s room. The nursery really held nothing of interest, just some furniture set up in anticipation of the baby. Mycroft turned and instead went into the bedroom, which had been, for the last few months, Gregory’s cell. 

The shackle had been dropped onto the floor as some point in the proceedings as the forensics team had gone through the room. Mycroft winced as he looked at the chamber pot tucked neatly under the bed, for Gregory to use when he was shackled up. From the information he had received from the caretaker, who had been arrested while outside the house, if he did have to leave the attic then Gregory was chained up. Mycroft got the feeling it was more than that. From his reactions Mycroft presumed it was essentially any time Gregory did not need to be out of the bedroom. Someone had pulled the bed covers about, but an imprint still remained. The pillow dipped where Gregory's head had lain, and there was still the faint outline of his body on the sheets. Mycroft looked at it, and looked around. There were no windows, nothing that could give the impression that the open sky lay just above. The roof slanted, giving the room a deeper impression of enclosure. Around him the plain while walls gave nothing, other than the fact the enclosure had not been good for Gregory. 

Mycroft knew his habits well enough and Gregory had never been one for idleness. Even when he had been heavily pregnant with Will he had tried to keep as active as his bulky body would allow. Even in the last month, when Mycroft had confined him to the house he had tidied every corner he could fit himself into for something to do. Being trapped on the bed, with nothing around him would have bothered Gregory; the report had stated there appeared to be no stimulus in the room, not even one book. Again it was nothing more than a minor torture, a small thing on it's own but add it to the other small tortures and it would have made for little short of hell. And quite frankly, there had probably been something of a relief to it at the same time. 

Gregory's common sense would have told him that he didn't want to attract the ire of Moriarty, or the caretaker, when he was in residence. And that, as well as the lack of stimulus, had made Gregory as quiet as a church mouse. He knew his parents found it unnerving, Mycroft himself found it worrying. Will probably realised there was something wrong with Greg, but he was also the one who could illicit any sort of normal reaction from his father. The little boy hung by Greg, not wanting to leave him alone for a moment. On the first day of having Gregory back in the house, and Will had been told that his daddy needed peace and quiet, they had settled Gregory in his bed and minutes later Will had trotted in, wearing his pyjamas and carrying Bee. 

He had clambered quietly into bed with Gregory and stayed with him, and that had begun the pattern. It was one Mycroft would need to wean them both off at some point in the future, but for now, Will served a good purpose, not only his presence but what he could do. Having seen the careful silence around his omega, Mycroft realised it was not what Gregory needed, so he had encouraged Will, when spending time with him, to take some toys with him, even some books, which Will had read to his father. Once that had started Will seemed to get the idea, and he kept going. Gregory watched him, sometimes with such bafflement on his face that Mycroft wondered if his omega, on those occasions, couldn't work out who Will was. 

It worried him. He made sure he didn't show it. But Mycroft worried that the opinionated, independent and often irritated omega was gone for good. Flickers came, but they also went. It was only two weeks, so it was fair to say it was early days, but he needed to get one thing done, and that one thing, Mycroft thought, was the key to it all. If he could unlock one small thing in Gregory, then it would be the action he needed to bring him forward that first step. Even if he went inch by inch for the rest of it, the first thing needed to be sharp and clean, of a fashion. Mycroft turned slowly, looking around the room. There was nothing there, without Gregory in it, it was just a room. A plain, boring, room where Gregory had mourned the loss of one child, and dreaded the arrival of another. He had been left with nothing but those thoughts. 

No wonder his omega was on the tipping point of insanity. Mycroft had promised Will he could get Gregory back. 

He still hadn't quite made good on that. Yet. 

XxxxxxxxxxxxxX

"Leave it!" Mycroft snapped the moment his mother heard Nathanial over the baby monitor. She hesitated, looking at her husband and then back to her eldest son. 

"Leave it!" 

Mycroft's voice made her sit back down again. 

"Do you think that will work?" Sherlock asked. 

"It's not something you can push him into" his mother warned Mycroft. "You can't appeal to his omega nature by force."

"I'm not appealing to his omega nature, I'm appealing to Gregory's, or rather Nathanial is."

The rest of them clearly didn't understand the distinction, but it was nothing to do with Gregory's omega instincts. They appeared to be in full working order, he responded to Will and he reacted to Nathanial, but so far he hadn't laid a hand on his youngest son, as if he was afraid to touch him. It was not that Gregory didn't know what to do. He had worked it out with Will, and he wanted to do it with Nathanial. All the omega instinct lay there. It was a fear of rejection that Greg couldn't handle, if he had been with Nathanial since his birth the bond between them would no doubt be as strong as the one Greg and Will had. 

Nathanial was just ten months old, there was time for it to happen. Logically Gregory had to know that, but certain aspects of logic were missing from Gregory's mind. The fact remained, that Gregory would not be able to leave Nathanial if he was in distress. He would push himself, he did not want to not achieve, Gregory had fought for that all his life. On that basis he had worked out what he had needed to do for, and with, William. And he needed to be left alone to do this, anyone helping him would cause him to back off. Greg, more often than not, coped better when he could work it out on his own. 

Mycroft took a breath and listened as his youngest son cried, probably, in his own way, wondering why his needs were not being dealt with as promptly as he had become used to. Listening carefully, he waited. 

Upstairs Greg had woken at the sound of Nathanial's tears and he expected, at any moment, the tread on the stairs. When after a minute, nothing seemed forthcoming he got out of bed and went to the doorway. He waited a few more seconds for the sound of someone coming. 

The hallway and stairs stayed silent and Nathanial's little wailing cries increased. 

"Daddy?" Will asked as he plodded out from his room in his thick flannel pyjamas, Bee held tightly by one leg. 

As Nathanial continued to cry Will gave a little scowl and went off in the direction of the nursery.

"Shut up!" he ordered Nathanial. 

Greg sighed, he knew if he held off long enough someone would come, or if he went and got someone they would help. Nathanial was his son, and his son was crying.

Will went ahead of him as he went towards the nursery. Greg watched his eldest son walk up to the cot and put his arm through, prodding Nathanial hard on the leg. 

"Tut up!" 

"William! Don't do that to your brother!" Greg ordered. 

It snapped something, watching Will treat Nathanial in such a way. The baby continued to cry and Greg tentatively reached in to pick the baby up. His mind forcefully focused on something and he frowned as he looked at the striped material tucked into the side of the cot. It wasn't something he remembered putting in there, but it seemed oddly familiar. His mind wasn't capable of connecting it, so he stopped thinking about it. It had been the easiest way over the last year. 

Mycroft had probably bought new bedding when they had brought Nathanial home. Greg felt a faint indefinable stirring in the pit of his stomach as he thought that, and he tucked the baby close. Nathanial's cries lowered to whimpers as Greg rocked him gently carrying him over to the changing bench, which Sherlock had made. Greg knew all the signs of a dirty nappy. Will trotted with him, his free hand latching onto Greg's pyjamas and his weight rested against his father's legs. He peered upwards, watching Greg intensely. 

It grounded Greg enough to efficiently focus on his youngest son pulling off the sleep suit and removing the nappy. 

"Urgh," Will announced as he smelt it. 

Greg didn't react, it was a smell he knew, and it helped keep his mind on the job. He had changed Will so often as a baby, it stirred the memory as he reached out for the wipes and a spare nappy. He didn't even need to look, instinct told him where things would be. As he worked the baby stopped crying and instead fixed his eyes on Greg, watching his movements. 

As Greg stared back, using a wipe on Nathanial's backside the baby gave a gurgle and smiled, waving his arms. Greg wrapped him up in a fresh nappy before stuffing him back into his sleep suit. Nathanial took the whole process amiably. Once Greg had finished the baby waved his limbs again, hands clenching and unclenching. Will had behaved similarly when he had wanted Greg to pick him up. 

Greg responded, lifting Nathanial up and resting him against his chest. Nathanial snuffled his nose against him, causing Greg to tense, but other than curiously taking in the scent Nathanial seemed quite happy. 

"Daddy!" Will demanded. Greg looked down at him and then at Nathanial, who had paused sniffing and his wide blue eyes stared up at Greg, before he went back to sniffing, as if he recognised the scent but couldn't place Greg in the scheme of things. Nathanial, however, settled happily, and the reaction made Greg's mind flicker back to the odd material in the cot. He didn't get time to extend the investigation as Will tried to push him towards the cot. 

"Daddy!"

Greg decided he was having none of that. He wasn't putting Nathanial down in favour of Will. That was wrong. Something in his mind told him that, and his instinct made him want to hold onto the baby. Nathanial seemed happy with him and Greg shuffled out of the nursery to his room next door. As they went in, Will on his heels, the little boy paused. 

"Should I get stories?" 

"Yes," Greg said. 

Will went hurtling off into his room and as Greg shuffled into his own, which looked strange every time entered it. Will came running back with an armful of books. Greg went into the room and carefully climbed on the bed. Will pushed the books onto the edge, then threw Bee on, before clambering up onto the bed. Greg settled with the baby in his arms. Nathanial babbled at him excitedly, and Greg again saw the dark scowl on Will's face. 

"What books did you bring?" 

Will stopped scowling and beamed as he show Greg the books. 

"Do you want to read them or shall I?"

It didn't take long for Will to ponder that. He had been reading to Greg, which sent pains through Greg every time he heard it. Before Moriarty had took him he had just started teaching Will to read. Mycroft had clearly taken up the responsibility, so Will had advanced quite significantly. 

"You, Daddy," Will said, pushing the books towards Greg. It took a little juggling to get a book, the baby and Will organised around him, but it seemed simpler than he thought. He put the book over his belly, best not to think about that for a moment, and kept Nathanial in the crook of his arm. Will snuggled into his other side and Greg, looking at the book, one he knew well, that Will had wanted him to read to the point they were in danger of reading the print off it, felt something close to normal. 

I belong here, his instinct announced. He looked around the room, which had seem strange, and unusual, despite his recognition of many of the items. I belong here, his mind repeated. 

"Daddy!" Will said, one little finger pointing to the first word of the story. 

Yes, Greg said to himself, I belong here.


	6. Chapter Five

"You're a bastard!" John concluded the next morning at the end of the angry rant that he directed at Mycroft, for what he had done the night before. Mycroft raised his eyebrows. 

"I am, however, an effective bastard." 

Greg wasn't sure why that tone and those words had made him need to go and sit down, on his own, clenching his hands together. But he had to do that, and sit as quietly as he could. Greg was just working out how to keep his breathing steady, when a cool calm voice sliced into his thoughts. 

"Gregory?" 

The fact that Gregory went extremely still, but also lifted his eyes to watch him made Mycroft supremely aware that was he was about to say, or do, might have baring on his omega's recovery. He walked in closer. Greg rubbed at his belly, trying to calm the child moving inside him, who had clearly felt the sudden change in Greg's mood. He took another deep breath and felt the baby settle. 

"Gregory?" He changed the tone slightly, putting a deeper level of query into his voice. Greg ducked his head. 

"I'm fine," he announced quietly, in the same cautious tone he had been addressing Mycroft with since he had returned. There were moments of normal conversation, but they were very infrequent. Greg was wary of him, every time he inhaled and picked up Mycroft's scent Mycroft could see the caution in him. Easing his way over he sat on the sofa, not too close, he didn't want to crowd Greg, but he was near enough that he could reach out and take Greg's hand. It was not a natural gesture for either of them to have done, and Mycroft didn't want to act in a way that seemed different from normal, but a gentle hand would be comforting, giving the hint that he was aware of Greg's hurt, without being too invasive. Or, as far as Mycroft could work out, it was something you did in these situations. 

Greg watched warily, still struggling to breathe through the strange feelings that seemed to be swamping him. He looked up at Mycroft's face and then down at his hand, wrapped around his. 

"Are you sure? You seem a little flustered."

"I'm fine," Greg repeated. Then he seemed to look at Mycroft again, before adding. "I heard you, talking to John, and then I..."

Mycroft frowned, wrapping his other hand around Greg's, keeping his hold gentle. 

"Go on," Mycroft encouraged him, wanting more than two timid sentences out of his omega. 

"I had to come and sit down... and... I felt...."

Mycroft watched his reactions, and some comprehension came across his face. 

"He was cross with you, for making me pick up Nathanial," Greg concluded, sounding as if he found that concept confusing. Why would John be angry about that? About something, Mycroft thought, that as an alpha, he wanted his omega to do. 

"Yes, but it was the only way it was ever going to happen, I knew that," Mycroft said. "And I believe, in the face of overhearing what John and I said, you are quite irritated with me." 

He would have felt pleased at the idea, if Greg hadn't looked so horrified. His eyes widened and he cowered significantly. Mycroft relaxed his grip and let Greg pull his hand back, at least for a moment, and he cradled it in a way that made it seem as if Mycroft had hurt him. 

"I wouldn't... I... I'm sorry..." 

Mycroft gritted his teeth. He could ask himself how Moriarty had done this to Greg, but he had been given time, and resources, and no doubt, somewhere along the way, he had made sure that Greg had learnt to hate and fear Mycroft just as much as Moriarty himself. He took a breath and then gently took Greg's hand again. 

"I had noted it is a common feeling I seem to cause in you," Mycroft said. He let Greg process that, seeing if he could stir a memory within him, something that Greg could latch onto, and keep in his mind to remind himself of life beyond that attic apartment. 

"You are no doubt irritated because it has occurred to you that I took, again, unilateral action to deal with something, and it is one thing that generally annoys you because I apparently should take other people's feelings into consideration. However, on this occasion I didn't want to do that. Except your feelings perhaps."

Greg's eyes had fixed on him, wide and startled. His breathing, which he had managed to steady, had gone back to being slightly erratic. If anyone else had seen them, and realised Greg was having something of a panic attack, they would have reacted to it. Mycroft didn't mention it, he didn't get anyone else to come and comfort Greg. If it became a serious concern he could get John, but the reaction was far better than Greg merely cowering, meekly sitting, and letting people dictate what he was doing. Mycroft needed to convert the panic attack into anger, however, mild. 

"Why not?" Greg asked. He didn't sound irritated, but he'd asked the question, Mycroft had him engaged. 

"Because it was the only way you were going to pick up Nathanial, any attempt to put him in your arms wouldn't have worked. You needed to get past that one thing, so I decided to do it that way. I didn't think it was worthwhile telling anyone else."

Quite honestly, he hadn't.

He let Greg process that. Greg looked down at his hand, now again back in Mycroft's. He frowned and Mycroft could see the thoughts rattling around Greg's brain. The omega had to work some of it out for himself. Greg knew he was safe; he did, for the most part, recognise the people around him and the house. All of that was safe, Mycroft could see the reactions when Greg picked up scents and saw familiar things. His memories were stirring but something tainted them. There was only one thing that held everything in reality. And they were doing such a good job of dealing with it. 

"William Gregory Holmes, if you are going to eavesdrop on conversations then you need to be far more subtle than that," Mycroft said. Greg jumped, almost pulled his hand back but when Mycroft didn't let him he relaxed, looking wary, but his eyes assessed Mycroft again, as if seeing something new. Then as Will shuffled forward, peering around the armchair, holding Bee under his arm, Greg turned to look at him. 

"Well?" Mycroft asked his son, who shuffled back a little. 

"Don't tell him off," Greg said. "He's not doing anything wrong." He held out his other hand to coax Will towards him. Will inched forward, looking at Mycroft warily. 

"I wasn't telling him off, at least not as you think. I just pointed out if he is going to try and listen in on conversations he needs to be more careful so he is not detected. In which case, he did do something wrong in the fact that he was detected."

"Do not start attempting to turn my son into a spy," Greg said. 

"He's four, Gregory, a little early to be thinking about that. I was rather hoping he would pursue something a little safer," Mycroft said realising that Greg again was taking on normal conversation levels. He watched Greg realise, jerk in panic and his gaze flickered to Mycroft to assess his mood. By that point Will had clearly seen no point in hiding and shuffled out to press himself against Greg's legs reaching out one hand to cling onto Greg's trousers. 

"Daddy?" Will asked. 

"Daddy is fine," Mycroft assured smoothly. 

"Auntie Mary's brought cake stuff," Will said, looking up at Greg. She had probably done so to try and distract Will, to allow Greg some peace. Mycroft was getting rather annoyed with this belief that Greg needed peace and quiet. It was not peace and quiet that Gregory reacted to. At least not in any constructive way. It was the noise of his children that brought him out; Mycroft had proved that theory last night. 

"You want daddy to come and help make cakes?" Mycroft asked. Will nodded, while Mycroft reached down to help Nathanial - who had clearly evaded whoever had been minding him and crawled after Will - clamber unsteadily upright. The little boy scrabbled up, easing onto his feet and resting against Greg's legs while putting his nose against Greg and sniffing. Then he did the same to Mycroft, lifting his head to stare at him with wide eyes. Greg watched them both. 

"Daddy will in a moment," Mycroft told Will. "You go and tell Mary that." 

Will looked uncertain, his gaze shifting from Mycroft to Greg, for confirmation. When he didn't get it he looked back to Mycroft. 

"Go on now, daddy won't be long," Mycroft assured him. Will blinked, clearly uncertain, and reluctant to move. Nathanial gurgled and wobbled, only saved from dropping onto his rump by Mycroft steadying him. Will gave Nathanial a dark look. 

"Stop that," Mycroft said, almost growling, the moment he spotted the expression on Will's face. "Now, go and find Mary, and daddy won't be long." 

Greg blinked, shifting as he felt the increase of Mycroft's hormones. He hunched his shoulders, swallowing heavily. Will looked up at him and then to Mycroft, whose tone softened. 

"I promise." 

"It's chocolate cake," Will added before turning and running off.

Mycroft frowned, but he felt Greg shift next to him. The alpha could have asked what the significance of chocolate was exactly, but he left it alone. That was something between Will and Gregory. Nathanial turned, trying to free himself from Mycroft, and he pitched to the floor as he twisted to follow Will. Greg tensed and Mycroft reached down to hoist Nathanial back up. The little boy giggled, clearly very unconcerned about the inelegant manhandling that Mycroft gave him. Greg reached out to help, jumping as if he had been burnt when Mycroft's hand brushed over his.

"I apologise," Mycroft said pulling back, leaving Greg holding Nathanial, which was not such a bad thing. Mycroft also spotted Will, who had snuck back, peering around a chair. The alpha chose to ignore him and focus on Greg. Greg didn't seem to know what to do with an apology. Nathanial wriggled on Greg's lap and beamed at him. 

"How does he recognise me? It's like he knows me." 

Again the children worked to make Greg talk, without him really thinking about it. Mycroft had an answer, and relief made him actually babble it out. 

"Your scent certainly. He might not be entirely able to place it, but it is something that he should be familiar with." 

He watched Greg frown, not just in confusion but with that slow stirring of irritation that Mycroft always seemed to cause in him. It used to worry him, to a point he wasn't entirely sure how to handle Greg. Mycroft hadn't been sure in those first few tentative months of their relationship if Gregory was merely staying with him because it seemed like Mycroft had him over a barrel. It had been the case, but also hadn't at the same time, and the irritation had almost frightened Mycroft. And it was something of a selfish reaction because Mycroft hadn't wanted to discover something he was incapable of doing. Then he had just become accustomed to the fact he was always going to annoy Greg. Then, in the end, it had become quite enjoyable when he realised he could play back, when Greg hinted that he was not that annoyed, but he found terrifying Mycroft into thinking that he was held a good deal of fun.

Maybe, Mycroft thought, it wasn't just the children who should be trying to get a reaction from Greg. 

"I put what I could find, that carried your scent, in the cot, and used your towel as a comfort blanket. Anything I could find. Quite clearly the scent imprinted, although I had no way of knowing that until now." 

He confessed that and waited for Greg's reaction. He had been close to committing murder on the day that his mother had decided to move 'this old tat' from the cot. Mycroft had howled the place down, yelling, storming about and making sure that everything was organised the way Greg wanted it. He had spent weeks following his mother relentlessly to ensure things stayed in place, to the point he almost drove his parents out of the house, until Sherlock had swept in, quite randomly, looked around for a second before saying to his parents.

"He's grieving, what do you expect?" 

Then he had swept off again, while Mycroft wondered if Sherlock had taken lessons from Greg somewhere along the way, and his parents relented, letting his awful behaviour slide. Finding that it was worthwhile didn't really please him now, until Greg slowly announced. 

"My dressing gown. It's in the cot, I saw it." 

"I put it there," Mycroft said. Greg looked at him, his eyes relaxing as his mind faded away to somewhere else. Mycroft repressed the urge to shake him and drag Gregory back to where he should be. The alpha didn't like letting Greg slide back into whatever awful place he seemed to retreat to. Or it could have been a safe place, where Moriarty couldn't touch him. 

"He said you wouldn't want me back. You had what you wanted from me." 

Presumably that meant Will and Nathanial. Mycroft had his children, the ones that would carry on his family line. Will especially considering his clear alpha tendencies. Mycroft gained no satisfaction in finding some of his speculation on Greg's mental trauma to be correct. That little nugget was one of the reasons Moriarty had taken Nathanial away and given him to Mycroft. 

"He lied," Mycroft said. The situation was far too complicated to put it all down on one factor. But leaving Greg to suffer at Moriarty's hands had never been an option. "You're part of this family, you're part of Sherlock's little team, not a single one of us were going to abandon you, certainly not me."

"You couldn't have know putting that stuff in the cot would work."

"No, I didn't, until now," Mycroft said, quite truthfully. "Now, I believe William said something about chocolate cake." 

XxxxxxxxxxxxxX

Mycroft left them in the kitchen. Nathanial in his high chair prodding a handful of cake mix while Will diligently stirred a bowl under Greg's supervision. Emilia Watson did the same under her mother's careful eye. The kitchen remained oddly silent considering the messy nature of the activity but Mary had become used to the oddities of this household. Mycroft retreated to his study and wasn't surprised when his mother wandered in to find him. 

Their relationship had been strained of late. Which pained Mycroft somewhat. Whatever else he thought of his parents, he loved them and he tried to pay attention to them, suffering what he considered to be hideous tortures to keep them happy. Greg had randomly promised once that he would take them to the theatre the next time they visited. Mycroft would merely have to look after Will. One son compared to a theatre of people had made Mycroft almost cry with gratitude at the offer. 

In the end it had never come to anything. Moriarty had returned and taken Greg and Mycroft had not reacted well. He had often warned Sherlock that caring was not an advantage, and it hadn't been. The idea of Greg being held by Moriarty crippled him, both mentally and physically. He couldn't act against the man holding his omega, and Mycroft hadn't known what to do with his son, and couldn't anticipate what might happen to his unborn child, until Nathanial was unceremoniously dumped the moment he was born, which was a greater strategic act than first met the eye. 

"John was angry with you," his mother pointed out. 

Mycroft found his paperwork fascinating. 

"John Watson can do what he likes," Mycroft said, then added with pride. "Gregory was irritated with me." 

"That won't do him any good." 

Mycroft looked up from the paperwork and frowned. "It will do him the world of good. Being irritated with me is what Gregory does best. He just needs to relearn that it is perfectly normal."

"I doubt it will be as simple as that."

Again the paperwork became interesting. "I suppose not." 

That was quite disappointing to consider it like that. Mycroft had felt quite pleased with Greg's reaction, however it would be foolhardy to believe that the solution would be as simple as that. 

"Maybe you should think about getting some help," she announced. Mycroft looked up. 

"We have help," he snapped before looking down again, which was probably doing his neck no good at all. "How much more help do we need?" 

"I mean for Greg, mentally. Perhaps he should be treated somewhere..." 

She stopped as Mycroft ripped his paperwork. He didn't look up, Mycroft knew what sort of expression he had on his face, and he didn't really want to direct it at his mother. 

"It's for his own good," she bravely persisted. 

Mycroft growled in a breath. "How is again removing him from his children for his own good? How is putting him in another unfamiliar environment for his own good? Gregory is going nowhere, this house is his home and he will settle back into it. 

"I know people find it very hard to believe, but I do understand people's behaviour, despite the fact I very rarely wish to indulge myself with it. I know what is best for him, and I know what I'm doing."

"I know... dear..." 

"No. you. don't." Mycroft punctuated every word. "No one but Gregory and I have any idea."


	7. Chapter Six

_Greg was cold, his back was cold, his exposed body rippled with goose pimples as he jerked back into reality. His body ached from being held in the same position for so long, and the baby stirred within him, clearly picking up on his own body's tension. His automatic reaction was to reach up and gently rub his swollen stomach, but his hand stayed in position, his arms strapped down to the sides of the bench. His vision blurred again as he desperately tried to calm his breathing, hampered by the material of the gag in his mouth. He heard himself give a whimper of panic as the blackness threatened at the corners of his vision. Passing out again would be a mercy, but for some reason he held onto reality, part of his mind refusing to release him and the voice he dreaded he cut into his thoughts. "Wake up Gregory! We've got a busy day ahead of us!"_

He sat up violently, flailing slightly until he realised the restraints were just part of the dream. His hands clenched on the bedding as he gasped for breath and he looked down at his swollen stomach, then around at the room, eyes moving from left to right as he took in the furnishings, and the scent he was familiar with. He tested the theory by moving his leg; there was no feel of the shackle around his ankle. That was the signal it was fine to move around, but as he knelt up and touched the bed post, a wooden one rather than the slick cold metal, with no chain marring it's surface, he knew he wasn't in that place. Getting up Greg wandered into the hallway. He stopped dead, looking around the dimly lit area, slowly stepping across the hallway to look into the room opposite, at the little boy sleeping peacefully, one arm curled tightly around the cuddly bee and thumb firmly fixed in his mouth. Spinning on his heel Greg went to another door, to the nursery, where, by another low light, Nathanial slept in the cot.

Greg turned and staggered sideways. The nightmare he had been trapped in had woken him, and for one moment his mind had managed to convince him that it had all been a bad dream, not just that little snippet but everything. For one brief minute he had thought the child inside him was Nathanial, the little boy who had been snatched away from him. Which meant the one he carried....

He slumped downwards, his legs crumpling under him, his body pulled down by the weight inside him. Greg had enjoyed carrying the children, at least he had Will, and Nathanial for seven months. For the last two the baby had felt almost like a burden. And the current one sat coldly inside him. He took a deep, whimpering breath, which hitched painfully as his throat constricted. His hands went out to break his fall connecting with the soft carpet that Mycroft had installed before Will was born, a few days after Greg had expressed concern about the austere oak floors, and long elegant rugs which graced them, combining badly with a baby who would become a toddler.

"I'm sure it didn't need that measure," Greg had objected to him.

Mycroft shrugged. "The floorboards aren't going anywhere and the rugs can be stored. When the child is older we can think about restoring it."

Something in that sentence had niggled at Greg, and it only occurred to him now, it was the 'we', as if Mycroft entirely expected Greg to be there years later. Greg wondered why he had missed that, maybe he saw it now because he didn't feel like he honestly deserved it. He struggled to breathe, leaning forward, trying to keep control of himself.

And that was how Mycroft found him, having heard movement in the corridor. He knew immediately it wasn't Will, or his parents. Some instinct had told him he was needed, he felt sensitive to Gregory's moods, almost psychically so at times, aware of just how much disturbance there was in his omega, and the fact that he was causing some of it. However, he couldn't leave him slumped in the corridor in distress.

"Gregory?"

It didn't seem as if Greg was aware of him, even after he spoke. Mycroft crouched next to him, moving slowly to prevent spooking him, and he almost fell over as Greg suddenly shifted, latching onto him, pulling himself as close as he could to Mycroft.

Thankfully, Mycroft kept his balance, kneeling next to Greg, letting him cling as Greg inhaled deeply, taking in Mycroft's scent. The alpha part disturbed him, having learnt to fear it over the last year, but his deeper memory treated it with better perspective. The imprint that Mycroft's alpha scent had left assured Greg's omega nature that he was fine and safe. At that moment in time Greg needed to listen to that part of himself. Mycroft wrapped a careful arm around him and let Greg bury his face into the crook of his neck, feeling the frantic breaths against his skin.

"Steady now, breath in... and out..."

Greg followed the words, glad that there were no empty reassuring platitudes, not something that Mycroft would have indulged in, and he didn't see the point in trying to reassure Gregory that everything was all right, because it wasn't.

In the end Greg's breathing steadied and he slumped against Mycroft. They stayed still a minute longer before Mycroft slowly shifted, starting to lift Greg onto his feet. For a moment Greg resisted, feeling at least in those brief seconds safe and calm.

"Come on now," Mycroft gently insisted.

He eventually managed to ease the almost dead weight upwards and steadied Greg on his feet before turning to lead them to his room. In moments of distress Greg always seemed to go to the alpha's room, so Mycroft concluded that was the best course of action. It seemed to be so as Gregory became a fraction more co-operative.

Mycroft gently settled him on the edge of the bed, Greg's hands clenching again, gripping the bed sheets. Reaching for the thick throw Mycroft pulled it up around Greg's shoulders, although as he touched his skin Mycroft felt the heat, his skin clammy with sweat. Greg's eyes flickered with panic as Mycroft stepped away, going around the bed to acquire a glass of water. Greg's eyes stayed on him as he came back, sitting next to him, lifting the glass to encourage him to drink something. Mycroft didn't want him getting dehydrated. Greg half expected Mycroft to foist some of the pills that had been prescribed on him. Mycroft, however, made no such gesture. Instead he focused on encouraging Gregory to take small sips of the water, putting a hand on the back of his neck to steady him.

"Just a little more."

Greg obliged, keeping his eyes averted from Mycroft, which the alpha chose not to take personally. As he reached over to put the glass on the side table Greg flinched back, trying to avoid Mycroft's arm from going near his belly. His hand reached up to hover over his bump, as if, Mycroft thought to himself, Greg was afraid to touch it himself and acknowledge that it was there. He had asked how the child was, when he had woken at the omega centre, but that had been the extent of his acknowledgement so far.

"Into bed now," Mycroft ordered him moving the covers and easing the throw off Greg's shoulders. He helped him lie down, Greg curled up on his side, drawing his legs up, trying to curl in on himself. Mycroft briefly tided before sliding into the other side of the bed, turning the light down slightly, so he still had something to see by, while leaving it dim enough to sleep by.

"Gregory?"

He could sense the tension as he encouraged Greg to turn over. Eventually the omega obliged, keeping his eyes cast down. Mycroft tucked the covers around him in an unnecessary gesture, but he thought it might be comforting.

"You need to sleep Gregory."

"It doesn't help." Greg's voice was low, using the quiet tone he generally did now.

"I suppose it doesn't," Mycroft said. "Is it preferable in here? If not, we can always relocate to your room."

"It's fine," Greg said his tone lowering to a whisper, curling up a little tighter. He didn't want to be questioned, or even to be noticed. It was such a contrast to the nature he should have had; did have ... had; that it unnerved Mycroft. He'd lost all concept of correct grammar. He wanted to find a way to get Gregory back, but even if he got some level of normality back to him, he would still not be the same. What had happened to him, had happened, there was no way to change that. The consequences were going to affect them all for a long time to come. It would have been easier if Greg had not taken during a heat. The baby complicated the situation.

"You do need to rest."

Greg closed his eyes, as if trying to do exactly that. Mycroft looked at the traces of fine lines that drifted across his forehead. Instinctively Mycroft reached up to run his fingertips over them, in an attempt to erase them. Greg tensed, the line deepening for a moment before he consciously relaxed, turning his head to inhale Mycroft's scent from the pillow he lay on. For a few seconds Greg relaxed, then he tensed again, hand clamping to his navel, and his eyes flashed open. Mycroft withdrew his hand.

"What's the matter?"

Greg shook his head. It took him a few moments to answer. "I'm fine."

Mycroft waited, his patience was usually rewarded in the end. It took Greg several unsteady breaths before he eventually said. "The baby's moving."

"That's normal, at this stage, isn't it?"

Greg nodded, his hand resting on the bump, looking down, as if he suddenly, at that moment, could no longer ignore it's existence. "What am I going to do?"

Mycroft wondered if Greg was merely questioning himself. However, as he had heard it, he chose to answer.

"Whatever you require, it can be done."

Greg's eyes raised, wary but no anger at the hint. "They'd never abort a healthy baby."

It would go against the grain. Breeding omegas, especially male, were dropping into latency. Mere evolution, Mycroft presumed, although it irked him slightly. Still he could breed, so could Greg, so he did as convention demanded of him. This, however, was not a conventional situation.

"Still, it is not an impossible request, if you wish so."

Mycroft could probably arrange it, something discreet, and Greg, the way he was at the moment, would probably acquiesce. And because of that the ramifications of that decision, in the future, had to be considered. Even if the decision was not his, Gregory would never forgive himself. He would have allowed it to happen, and that would compound the guilt he was already feeling. Greg frowned, really thinking through the situation, and Mycroft waited. The answer Gregory gave didn't really surprise him.

"It's not the baby's fault, is it?"

"No, it is not. Nor is it particularly yours. If you wish to look at it from a clinical point of view, carrying from a heat was the easiest way to keep yourself safe, although that is probably not a motivation that ever occurred to you."

The glance that Greg gave Mycroft, hinted to the alpha that perhaps that analysis had been inaccurate. He looked away just as swiftly, as he carried on taking Greg's voice remained nothing more than a whisper.

"He..." There was a sharp intake of breath as Greg clearly fought to break the barrier that seemed to prevent him from saying anything. Mycroft, in contrast, held his breath, hoping that Greg didn't retreat into the passive silence that he had been cocooning himself in. "He left me... there was a room... in the..."

"I saw it," Mycroft said, trying to heft Greg over that mental hurdle. "I went to see, just to try and understand."

Greg tensed, relaxed and tensed again. "Overnight," Greg started again, able to leave out the description of the room he was talking about. "He said he would take the baby... Nathanial..." Greg spoke the name with some relief; no doubt relief that the child was in the world, safe and well, considering what came next. "He was going to take him out of me, because he was in the way, and I didn't... I couldn't let that happen."

Mycroft nodded, almost to himself since Gregory wouldn't look at him.

"Of course not."

"I just did... as I was told... what he wanted."

Which was not, Mycroft assessed, something that Gregory was entirely ready to elaborate on.

"You did what you needed to do to keep yourself safe, and to keep our child safe, both your children." All of them, Mycroft corrected. Greg had also protected Will when Moriarty had come for him. "And there is nothing we immediately need to consider, the baby is healthy and should deliver fine, as abortion is not an option."

Mycroft had already known that.

"However, there are options beyond that. There are omegas unable to breed, surrogates are always being contracted. Or something temporary can be set in place," Mycroft babbled slightly, bringing himself tightly to heel. "There is no need to make any serious decisions just yet."

Greg made no response. He looked torn between wanting to take comfort in what Mycroft was saying, and running away from him. Mycroft gently ran his hand over Greg's hair, gratified that the omega only tensed for a split second before relaxing, letting Mycroft pull him closer. Greg inhaled deeply to take in Mycroft's scent.

"You are, it seems to me, missing out one fact in this scenario," Mycroft added, which caused Greg to tense and lift his head. "The child is Moriarty's, we cannot get away from that fact, but you seem to have forgotten. It is also, quite fundamentally, yours."


	8. Chapter Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's a short chapter, but considering what comes next it is best to leave it where it is.

Mycroft returned home to find Sherlock stood in the middle of the lawn staring at the flowers, which had become a little overgrown since the gardener had not been in regularly. Nor had Greg been out as he had done previously. In fact until Sherlock had noticed Greg's reluctance to walk out of the house, he hadn't been into the garden. Then it had become, somehow, Sherlock's role to coax him out, with the help, initially, of Will, a football, and a disapproving John.

"Twenty-nine minutes today," Sherlock announced as Mycroft paused next to him. "It might have been longer but I did say that once he made it to half an hour we'd go for a walk to the shops."

"He's carrying, and his condition is obvious. He limited his sphere of movement carrying Will after the incident at the supermarket."

"You confined him for the last month anyway."

Mycroft scowled. "There was good reason for that."

"Entirely," Sherlock said. "Maybe I should change the parameters."

Mycroft glanced around the garden again.

"You could mention doing some pruning as an alternative. Gregory seemed to enjoy that."

"Really?!" Sherlock sounded shocked, staring at the garden again as if trying to comprehend the idea.

"Yes, really. Digging might be out of the question but I'm sure he can think of something to keep himself occupied."

"I shall suggest it. Maybe through William."

"Just try Gregory first." Sherlock gave Mycroft a sharp look.

"I know such a strategy worked initially but we need to start trying to interact with Gregory without the use of an intermediary," Mycroft suggested.

Sherlock thought about that before asking. "Does William enjoy this... gardening... activity?"

"He's a small boy, digging involves mess, therefore he is predisposed to enjoy it."

"I don't remember enjoying it," Sherlock said.

Mycroft gave him a sidelong glance. "I believe we are the exception. William is normal."

"He likes Anderson, how is that normal?"

"William appears to have inherited, or learnt, Gregory's tolerance for the more annoying members of the human race."

Sherlock snorted and then went back to contemplating the garden around them.

"So gardening...?" Sherlock mused. "I shall research."

With that in mind Sherlock swept off into the house. Mycroft stayed where he was for a moment. He had never paid too much attention to the garden that surrounded his house, other than employing someone to come in and tend to it. There had been some new additions to the beds since Gregory had moved in. Mycroft had returned home one day, early on in their relationship, to find Gregory pulling out weeds and dead heading roses.

"I employ someone for that."

"I know, but he can't do everything. It's nice, I always wanted a garden, my window box never came to much. I did quite well with a cactus thought. I wonder what happened to him?"

"Him who?"

"My cactus," Gregory had said.

The ownership of the, now missing, cactus had made Mycroft wonder about Greg's instinctive omega nature. The desire to nurture directing itself after Gregory had convinced himself, or been convinced by his wife, that he did not need it cultivated.

Under Mycroft's care Gregory had embraced that nature easily, hardly realising he was doing it the progression was so natural. It had also improved his work, he was a better officer, his instinct heightening, his persuasive abilities bringing in confessions and soothing victims. At the time Gregory hadn't noticed it, but Mycroft had. He had seen the change, the slow blossoming of a carefully managed flower. He had not realised it was doing it anymore than Gregory had, but he had given the omega his head, responded to the needs Gregory hinted at, and pulled him up when Mycroft thought he was overstepping - which was rare. Their accommodation of each other had been easily reached. They were suited. As far as Mycroft was concerned they were bonded. He had spent long enough without Gregory to know they were. He just wasn't sure how Gregory felt about that situation.

He felt too scared to ask.

However, he went into the house to locate his omega.

"He said he was going for a lie down," his mother announced.

Mycroft nodded and went up the stairs.

His two sons were playing quietly in the upstairs hallway, clearly wanting to be near Gregory, without disturbing him. The game appeared to consist of Nathanial carefully selecting wooden blocks and then handing them to William, who was slowly constructing something. They both paused and looked at Mycroft as he appeared next to them. After a moment's consideration Nathanial offered him a green, rectangular block. Mycroft took it, the wood was slick with spit where Nathanial had been chewing it.

"Thank you."

Nathanial beamed at him. William pouted, frowning at Mycroft. As it was a rare occurrence to see the two boys together, with Will still having issues regarding his younger brother, who had done nothing to warrant any negative feelings. Mycroft understood how Will felt, with not only the knowledge of being an older sibling but also because he had seen Will's reactions during Greg's absence.

"You two carry on. I'm going to see daddy."

"Daddy's lying down," William said.

"I'll endeavour not to disturb him for long," Mycroft said.

Gregory was not in fact lying down, but was rummaging through his wardrobe, several items had been laid on the bed and four drawers in the cabinet had been pulled open. On hearing footsteps Greg stepped back from the wardrobe, holding one of his work shirts in front of him like a shield.

"You can ignore Sherlock's threat that he will take you to the shops if you spend more than thirty minutes in the garden. You did not go out while you were carrying Will, certainly in the later stages. Please do spend as long as you like out in the garden."

Gregory nodded, then as he turned to through the window he frowned. "Why is Sherlock photographing the buddleia?"

Mycroft stepped closer to the window, Sherlock had returned to the garden, taking pictures on his phone. No doubt for his research into how to set out Gregory's activity schedule.

"I said it might be a good idea to suggest you spend your time gardening. Sherlock said he would research the idea, he's clearly taking that very seriously. I'm sure the boys wouldn't mind helping dig things."

"I could do that couldn't I?" Greg mused, his voice sounding a little remote, so Mycroft assumed he was talking to himself more than him.  "I was just..."

He looked down at the shirt he was holding and then at the items he had put onto the bed.

"I was just having a sort out. Some of these things I haven't worn for..." He paused and frowned.

Mycroft let him process it. His clothes had stayed in the wardrobe and the drawers the year he was away. Most of them were still in good condition, but if Greg wanted to discard some Mycroft had no reason to object.

"I probably won't wear some of them again," Greg said eyeing the work shirt in his hands. "And the collar's frayed."

He slid it off the hanger and started a pile of things that were clearly to be removed. Mycroft watched for a moment, not willing to disturb the activity.

"I could sort the boy's clothes. Will has outgrown loads of his clothes. Some of the good ones I could keep for Nathanial when he's bigger."

"Very well," Mycroft said, who couldn't see the point in that. Nathanial could have his own clothes. But at this moment in time Mycroft would have done anything for Greg, however ridiculous the suggestion.

"No point doing your clothes though, all you have are varying shades of grey and black suits and white shirts. And tweed; even your casual clothes are formal."

"Some have pinstripes," Mycroft said. "And I have blue shirts. Some of which are possibly frayed."

Greg paused, his frown deepening, and he stared warily at Mycroft for a moment, who knew he was smiling slightly because a second later, Gregory's shoulders relaxed and his own expression altered as a smile tugged at his lips. He looked down at what he was doing, staring at the two tee-shirts he now held.

"Sorry. I was going to lie down then I looked for something to change into and just decided that... I'd tidy up."

It was Greg's nesting instinct. Mycroft remembered it from years ago, just before Will was born and he had confined Gregory to the house, working from home as much as possible to ensure he was with him, so if Moriarty had anything else in place, Mycroft could be ready for it. He had kept the secret service agents on John and Mrs Hudson just in case, but his main focus had been on his omega, and their impending child. It had triggered something in Gregory which meant he ended up sifting through every drawer and cupboard in the house; cleaning, throwing things out, tidying up. The instinct was kick starting again.

Mycroft blocked a door in his mind palace as it considered how Gregory had been during the last two months he had been carrying Nathanial. He hadn't been there for that. However, he was for this blossoming moment, and he had no wish to restrict it.

"Do you require anything to clean with?"

"There's stuff in the bathroom," Greg announced, his focus back on his wardrobe. "And baby wipes are good for most jobs."

"Shall I fetch them, or will you get them when you're ready."

Mycroft went very, very still, as Greg paused again. All he could see was Greg's back view, his shoulders drawing together. The entire room seemed balanced on a knife edge. Mycroft's mind opened again, to the little attic apartment, and the room, and the locked doors, and the deprivation.

_"I would stop there," Sherlock announced calmly, occupying the corridor of the neatly constructed attic of his mind palace._ _Whatever Gregory decides is probably a choice made by his omega instinct, not the person he was here."_

_"Could he possibly have tried to nest here? The cupboards were locked, there was a wardrobe in the bedroom, how tidy was it?"_

_"Tidy," the Sherlock in his mind announced. "How often can you tidy one space. Hardly relevant Mycroft, you have an omega exhibiting abnormal behaviour due to conditioning. This is normal behaviour that he feels safe exhibiting here, which is good, back off, NOW!"_

At the moment that Sherlock roared that in his mind Greg said, quietly. "I can get them in a bit."

"Very well. The children seem quite happy, and I will be in the study, if you need anything I'll be... there. You can do whatever you wish, unless it is a sudden urge to paint the house fuchsia."

Greg turned to him, still slightly wary. "Oh," he said.

Mycroft frowned and then Greg's knees buckled. The alpha felt his nostrils flare as the sudden rush of scent hit him and Gregory's trousers darkened with a rush of fluid.

"Oh," said Mycroft.


	9. Chapter Eight

The guard would wait outside, the man sat within the room was tethered within an inch of his life, recording equipment would take in everything that was said. Mycroft did not fear for his safety, despite appearances he could handle himself, he did not fear this man on any physical level. Not even perhaps on an intellectual one. But he did perceive that perhaps a few chinks in his armour would be probed during this confrontation.

 

Moriarty smirked at him, eyes glittering from under lowered brows as Mycroft swiftly sat down opposite him. A thick leather collar lay round Moriarty's neck, a chain running from it down to a pair of handcuffs, from which chains ran around the sides of the chair to the back. Also from the wrist cuffs a chain ran down to ankle cuffs, which were additionally tethered to the legs of the chair.

 

Mycroft settled, fastidiously straightening the crease in his trousers, wondering as he did so if it was it a casual gesture, or a tell of his nerves. Moriarty's face gave nothing away, amusement and intensity battling for supremacy on his face. His eyes cast around the scratched, stained surface of the table.

 

"No refreshments Mycroft."

 

He sat back and smirked. "You should have said. I could have arranged for afternoon tea."

 

As Moriarty jerked his arms upwards, the chains having very little leverage in them, Mycroft felt pleased that he didn't flicker.

 

"I might have needed a very long straw," Moriarty said. "Perhaps next time."

 

"I had no intention of there being any time," Mycroft said. "I cannot imagine what we possibly have to say to each other."

 

The elephant hung in the room, it couldn't have been more obvious even if it was dancing around in a tutu. Moriarty, not fond of patience at the best of times, decided to point it out.

 

"How is our dear Gregory?"

 

"I fail to see how he is any way yours," Mycroft said, unable to avoid the bait.

 

"Oh, I think I thoroughly staked my claim. Have you had him since?"

 

Moriarty smirked as he watched Mycroft's jaw tense.

 

"Low blow?" he asked Mycroft. Mycroft held his temper in check, Gregory was always going to be a sore point in this conversation, and Moriarty could use him just as effectively now as he did as a hostage. Mycroft knew he had only given a minimal reaction, so he schooled his features.

 

"Naturally not, although in that capacity he is rather soiled. However, it would merely be remiss of me to avoid the responsibility I have towards him considering our contract. Until Nathanial reaches the age of 4 Gregory is under contract to me. However, you have rendered him quite useless to anyone now."

 

Moriarty studied him intently, trying to see if what Mycroft was actually saying was a front, or true. The facts were true, their contract could legally end when Nathanial came of age. Mycroft would probably choose to extend it, even if they didn't breed again Gregory's exclusive attention would be productive for his children. Besides Gregory had suffered at Moriarty's hands because of his caste, and his association with both Mycroft and Sherlock. Moriarty knew of Mycroft's involvement in protecting Sherlock, the plan had been his, all the help Sherlock had been given came from him. In a way Sherlock had been the weapon that Mycroft had wielded to take down the consulting criminal's network. Moriarty had the knowledge to understand the dynamics. Taking Gregory had been his way to get back at Mycroft for what he had done; just as ruining Sherlock's reputation meant getting revenge on the detective. He took what was important to them and perverted it.  

 

Moriarty tilted his head to the side, eyes narrowing slightly. "Why don't I believe that?"

 

"I couldn't possibly begin to imagine."

 

However, he could. He knew why he had answered the demand to visit, and why Moriarty had requested it in the first place. Mycroft had delayed it by a day, it was now Thursday, when the request had been for Mycroft to come on the Wednesday. A Wednesday that was Gregory's due date. Again the two men gazed at each other, each of them aware the elephant in the room was prancing around again. Moriarty wanted to know about the child Greg was carrying, his own breeding line.

 

"If that is the case, you have no intention of informing him of any facts," Sherlock had sniped yesterday. "Why go and see him?"

 

Why indeed, Mycroft had asked himself. Since the deed was already done.

 

Eight and a half months into the pregnancy Gregory had gone into labour. Not that he informed anyone. Instead his waters had broken in front of Mycroft, as his nesting instinct had kicked in. It had caused chaos in the house as Mycroft carefully settled him, while phoning the omega centre to secure a private apartment, organise his parents dealing with the children and Mycroft took Greg to the centre and stayed with him. It was an unusual scenario, the alpha staying with the omega, and the abnormal behaviour had carried on, as Mycroft had calmed a stressed Greg, preventing his panic as the dreaded child had been born.  

 

That had ended some aspects of the situation. The child was in the world, minus the horns and tail which seemed to be expected of the innocent baby demonised by the actions of her alpha father.

 

Moriarty knew none of that, Mycroft now had to make a decision. Avoiding Moriarty would have left the choice impotent. But he couldn't ignore it. Even when Sherlock had asked the question he already looked to have known the answer. Things could not be ignored. As much as they had isolated this man he could still find ways of gathering information. They could screen the people who guarded him, but Moriarty had ways of working into their psyche. Plus they had no idea what Moriarty had set up while he had been loose, he had managed to hold Gregory for a year, with none of them able to make any progress in finding him. He had hidden himself as well as Sherlock had over his two year absence.

 

He stared at the man, who seemed, at first glance, so innocuous. Until you looked into his eyes. Mycroft could see the malice burning in them, and it seemed to seep into every cell in his body. He could easily understand how Moriarty had subdued Gregory to such an extreme point. He had used Gregory's own omega nature against him, manipulating the fact that Gregory would protect any of his children at all costs.

 

Moriarty continued to examine him, eyes boring into him. The man was certainly not mentally undressing him but more likely trying to imagine Mycroft's organs, and the most entertaining ways to remove them. Mycroft held his ground, saying nothing, and watching back. He started to wonder if Sherlock had been right, there was no point to this visit. He had no intention of telling this man anything about his offspring.

 

"Did Gregory tell you what I did to him?" Moriarty asked. Mycroft contained the tension he felt around his torso, his stomach muscles clenching in response to the threat.

 

"No. It was easy enough to work out the main facts, and the details hardly matter."

 

"One very obvious detail."

 

"Upon which it appears you wish me to elaborate." Mycroft was not going to make this easy but there was no point ignoring the tutu-clad, dancing elephant anymore.

 

"He'll be close to bursting, if he hasn't dropped the brat already."

 

Mycroft wondered if that was deliberate goading. He couldn't be entirely sure what Moriarty thought of his offspring. Not every full-blooded alpha cared about their breeding line.

 

"And if you still had Gregory, would you have handed that brat to me also?"

 

Moriarty raised his eyebrows. "I think I did."

 

"And you have no idea what I chose to do with it."

 

"They never abort a child from a healthy omega," Moriarty grinned with that sure knowledge as Mycroft hinted at the sinister end that had crossed his mind.

 

"Exceptional circumstances aside, besides it's not hard to arrange some form of accident, via a well dispensed chemical inducement. It has, of course, happened to Gregory previously, under stress. Quite simple to organise, if... well... if you're me."

 

"You wouldn't dare risk your precious Gregory."

 

Mycroft waited a moment before answering, keeping his voice cool and level despite what was happening inside. "What makes him precious? Because I've contracted him to breed on? He's done what was required well enough, and Sherlock has a sentimental attachment to him."

 

"You scoured this county to find him."

 

"He's under contract to me. I am his alpha, it is my duty to care and protect him. He was carrying my child at the time, and you used that, not only did you take that child away from him to distract me, it also destroyed him. He has given me what I wanted... twice... so I could discard him. Collateral damage, essentially. The children would eventually recover."

 

It was a lie, at the very least the last sentence was false. Will would never have forgiven him. Mycroft had made a promise, and his eldest son had expected him to deliver on it. If he hadn't Will wouldn't have ever trusted him again. Besides, Mycroft wanted Gregory himself, he had become a familiar feature in his life, and one he was fond of having there.

 

"You haven't discarded him. You're like Sherlock, you think you are above the rest of the sentiment driven humans, but you're not. You hold onto your little followers, that need for adoration causes so much pain."

 

"And you don't have need for it?" Mycroft asked. "If you didn't, I wouldn't be here."

 

Moriarty shifted in his chains, glaring again.

 

"You've told me all I needed to know."

 

Mycroft raised his eyebrows. There had probably been some tells, even unconscious ones, during that conversation. Reading between the lines Moriarty had to know the child was safe and well, nestled in the heart of the Holmes family, which was what Moriarty probably wanted. Not turning up would have probably told him the exact same thing. But he had none of the details and Mycroft had no intention of filling in those blanks.

 

"It is all you will ever know."

 

"And what about my darling little bundle of joy?"

 

"What of it?" Mycroft asked.

 

"Can you hide all the dirty little family secrets?"

 

"What do you think?"

 

Moriarty jerked in the chains. "Stop answering my questions with another question."

 

"What are you going to do about it?"

 

Moriarty growled, eyes darkening as he glared at Mycroft. "You couldn't hold me the last time. What happens when I get out?"

 

Mycroft sighed, very dramatically, and he slowly rose to his feet, leaning over the table. Moriarty watched him carefully, like a snake waiting to strike. However, Mycroft still leant down into his personal space, to ensure that what he said would not be picked up on the microphones. Moriarty smirked, eyes flashing as Mycroft slowly straightened up.

 

"We're done here."

 

Moriarty said nothing, until the door locks thudded back and it swung open.

 

"Give my regards to my little cuckoo."

 

Mycroft didn't hesitate when he walked out. Sherlock, lounging against the wall straightened up when he saw Mycroft.

 

"That didn't go well."

 

"I confirmed what he wanted to know, which I would have done by not appearing. Other than that, he'll never know anything further."

 

"Do you think he will get himself loose again?" Sherlock asked. As good a hold as Mycroft had on most systems, there were leaks. Although Mycroft had made this one as watertight as he could make it.

 

"I doubt it. He is a threat to the country, to the queen, to every person living here. There are plans in place, should it be required. He'll die here Sherlock."

 

As he said that Mycroft nodded at one of the guards, who returned it with a slow measured gesture.

 

It told Sherlock everything he needed to know.

 

XxxxxxxxxxxxxX

 

Mycroft returned home to find his mother cooking.

 

"The children are fed, Greg is putting them to bed. Your father is helping. Dinner will be ready in about forty-five minutes."

 

"Is everything all right?" Mycroft asked as his mother bustled about. She paused and looked at him.

 

"Of course. Will had a little tantrum, and kicked the baby's basket. Greg dealt with it... which I think helped."

 

It probably would. Will was having great difficulty dealing with his siblings. Not only had Will suffered during the year that Greg was missing, he had then had Nathanial imposed upon the structure of his life, and now another baby threatened to do the same. It did not help that Will was an alpha, who had reacted towards the omega he presumed to be his. Mycroft had never caused any negative feeling, as he had also been part of the natural order of things. However, the only person who could truly deal with it was the omega to whom the alpha was bonded.

 

"I'll go and see them."

 

His mother nodded. Mycroft crossed the kitchen and paused in the doorway to look back at her.

 

"Has he been all right?"

 

His mother paused chopping some vegetables and frowned.

 

"It's hard to tell, sometimes. But his behaviour seemed normal." She picked up a handful of chopped onions and dropped it into a pan where is started to sizzle. "Even then you can't be sure though."

 

"You still think I should have got some professional help for him?"

 

She paused stirring the onions.

 

"Quite frankly I doubt the wisdom of either course of action. He seems so unhelpable. I know that isn't really a work Mycroft but it's the best I can think of," she informed him before he corrected her.

 

"I think you need the professional help," she added causing Mycroft to raise his eyebrows. "Because you are the only one that can help him. It can't all be Will, and you were the first alpha to treat him like an omega."

 

Mycroft frowned, his mother went back to what she was doing in the clear hint that she had said what she wanted to say. He departed from the kitchen and made his way upstairs. The rooms in the corridor had been reshuffled, the nursery altered to accommodate the new baby and Nathanial given another room, which had unsettled him slightly, but Mycroft didn't think it would take long for him to accustom himself.

 

He paused by his father; who had been contemplating the occupant of the nursery.

 

"She's sleeping," his father said in a low tone. Mycroft stepped further in to look at the little girl, snuggled up in a pink babygrow and surrounded by pastel coloured blankets. She looked utterly peaceful and Mycroft tried to equate her with Moriarty, but the connection didn't really happen. She was Gregory's, and that was the only thing that Mycroft found tangible. That was part of what the visit to the holding facility did for him.

 

"Will's been a little fractious," his father added. "Gregory's making him sit alone in his room while he puts Nathanial down. He seems to have been very assertive today."

 

Mycroft presumed he meant Gregory, which was good.

 

"I will speak to William," Mycroft said. The sleeping baby had no need of him. He went across the hall, following the sound of low, but very heartfelt sobbing.

 

Mycroft paused in the doorway, William sat at the end of the bed, clutching Bee, and sobbing quietly into the accommodating fur. He lifted his head a little as he heard movement, but Mycroft was not the one he really wanted.

 

"Now, what's this I hear about you kicking?" Mycroft asked.

 

However, the little boy's upset was deep enough, and also, by instinct, he opened up to another alpha about the trouble he was having, or at least that Will thought he was having.

 

"Daddy doesn't love me anymore!"

 

Mycroft blinked in shock, and he was moving before his mind caught up to his reaction. He was in the room, lifting Will up so he could sit down and put the little boy on his lap. Will's sobbing continued, but realising that he was going to get some comfort he snuggled against Mycroft, pressing his face into his father's chest spreading tears and snot onto his shirt.

 

"Of course daddy loves you. Whatever made you think that?"

 

Mycroft asked, knowing that it was far more than Gregory being cross with him for trying to kick out at the baby. Will did nothing more than snivel and sniff for a minute or so, but Mycroft was not about to let it go.

 

"William? Why would you think daddy didn't love you?"

 

There was some more sniffing. "Daddy left me, he got cross when the bad man came."

 

Mycroft petted Will's soft downy hair.

 

"I know he did, because he didn't want the bad man to hurt you, and that's what he would have done if daddy hadn't made you run away and tell Mrs Hudson."

 

That had been one of the worst indignities of Greg's kidnapping. Moriarty had the front to take him from Baker Street, no more than ten yards from the door of 221b. And Greg's first thought had been to send William scurrying back to the safety of that house, with a set of words to tell Mrs Hudson to warn her of the situation. To warn her not to leave, but to get hold of Mycroft immediately, which she had done via Sherlock. Greg had meekly gone with Moriarty to protect the people then huddled within the house.  

 

Will saw himself as Greg's alpha, and therefore he had gone against his instinct to protect Greg, despite the fact it had been for a good reason. Greg would never have forgiven himself if Will had been hurt, and Moriarty would have used him. Mycroft didn't doubt that if William had been kidnapped as well, his son would now be dead.  

 

"He didn't want 'thanial," Will then reasoned. It was a good sign he mentioned Nathanial by name. Often he just got referred to as 'baby', although William was intelligent enough now to know he had to distinguish between the two younger children.

 

"What? You mean daddy didn't?"

 

Will blinked, hid his face again, but his head moved up and down.

 

"That's not true. Daddy loves all of you," Mycroft said. "He doesn't not love you because he has Nathanial and Georgina, daddy loves you all."

 

Will seemed to ponder that. While he was pondering Greg appeared in the doorway. Mycroft felt Will tense up, and his face disappeared back into Mycroft's shirt, depositing a little more snot.  

 

"He's supposed to be thinking about his behaviour," Greg told Mycroft. Mycroft decided to get to the point straight away.

 

"William thinks that you don't love him anymore."

 

Greg's face went from stern to shocked to horrified in seconds.

 

"I do not believe this is merely from his behaviour towards Georgina. He feels that he abandoned you when Moriarty took you. As much as I tried I do not think that I was ever the person that could correct such an assumption."

 

And it had not been addressed, and without meaning to they had put pressure on Will to help Greg, as he reacted to the little boy and his needs, and William's deep-seated emotional stress had been ignored in favour of pulling Greg back to his nature.

 

"Oh God, oh," Greg said, moving closer and sitting next to Mycroft on the bed and Mycroft started to pass Will over to Greg. The sturdy little body went utterly rigid for a few brief tense seconds before Greg forcefully gathered Will to him, holding him tightly.

 

"Of course I love you," Greg said. "Why would I not love you?"

 

William mumbled in a low tone, the only part Mycroft caught was a reference to the 'bad man' so he presumed Will was reiterating his previous conversation with Mycroft. Or at least part of it.

 

"I never wanted to go, but you had to stay with _daddy,_ where it was safe for you. Oh, Will. I don't not love you." As he paused Greg looked up, daring Mycroft to criticize the grammar. He felt like doing it, just to satisfy Gregory's challenge, but as Will was the more important focus he stayed silent.

 

"I love you, and Nathanial, and Georgina."

 

"Do you love _daddy_?"

 

Greg looked a little panicked at the question and who he referred to. He glanced at Mycroft, who answered smoothly, without even hesitating.

 

"Of course, and nobody can take away your share. Daddy loves you, and you love daddy, and you love your brother and sister, don't you?"

 

Will gave a slow steady nod, as if he was really thinking about that. His eyes moved from Greg to Mycroft and then William relaxed, as if something had been confirmed for him. He snuggled against Gregory who held onto him as if he was frightened Will would run away from him.

 

"'tory." Will said from the safety of Greg's embrace.

 

"What story do you want?" Greg asked, his voice wavering a little. Mycroft reached up to brush the back of Greg's neck, stroking gently. Will said something that was incomprehensible to Mycroft until Greg translated.

"Okay. Can you get me the one with the Fridrock in it?"

 

Mycroft reached over to the top shelf and pulled out the relevant book.

 

"I'm sure that story has an interesting moral to it."

 

"I'm sure Will likes it because the dog pees on the Fridrock."

 

"We'll agree to disagree."  


	10. Chapter Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For those who asked in the previous chapter comments, the Fridrock story is in a compilation of stories by Eva Ibbotson titled 'The Worm and the Toffee Nosed Princess', my mum loves it.

Will fell asleep before the end of the story, since he had exhausted himself both emotionally and physically. Greg, however, kept reading, wanting to get to the end of the story so he could look for the moral that Mycroft had mentioned. He didn't really see it, although Greg felt self-aware enough to know that his emotionally damaged personality could hardly see anything at the moment. Not that he could be sure if that was a good thing or not. He might have asked, but he probably wouldn't want the answer. 

Mycroft stayed with him, not moving or speaking, as if he didn't dare. He didn't want to disturb Greg while he read the book, and tucked a sleeping Will in, making sure Bee lay close to him. Mycroft only stood as Greg got up to put the book away and then he turned and looked at the alpha. They were close enough that it was easy for Mycroft to reach out and gently guide Greg from the room. Greg allowed it to happen, but he hesitated as he looked back at a now sleeping Will. Mycroft paused, lingering close, unsure just how Greg's reactions would go. He had never been sure of it even from the beginning, Greg always seemed to be one step ahead of him. Mycroft realised early on that Greg was the only person who could actually do that, which made the whole scenario increasingly intriguing, although Mycroft had hated it at the beginning. But for what he wanted, his breeding line to continue, he knew what he had to do. Tolerating an omega was necessary. 

In all probability, he could have set Greg up in a house somewhere else as part of the contract, so he wouldn't have had to bother with too much contact. It would have satisfied the requirements of the provision necessary for the omega to breed with him. But it wasn't traditionally done like that, and Mycroft hadn't wanted to explain his reasoning for that move. Plus, his house was big enough that they hadn't intersected too much at the beginning. Greg hadn't seemed bothered, and his first heat had been controlled at the omega centre, which he hadn't liked, Mycroft realised that. That was probably down to the fact that Greg had, through necessity, controlled his omega needs, finding alternative outlets as best he could - the fact that he seemed to easily tolerate Sherlock spoke volumes as far as Mycroft was concerned. 

Then there had been the miscarriage. 

That seemed to change their perceptions completely, altering the careful dance they had been performing around each other. Mycroft had been concerned, and upset, by the loss of the baby. He had felt it only correct to stay close to Greg in the aftermath, and Greg, in response, had behaved calmly, but his omega nature had unfurled a little more, wanting to be at close quarters with his alpha. In fact, Mycroft had taken little time to realise his almost unsympathetic sympathy had been greatly appreciated. He hadn't fussed, he had just complied with whatever request Greg had asked of him and let everything else flow as normal. 

"How could he..." Greg paused, his voice faltering. "How could he think that?" 

Mycroft drew Greg away from the doorway of Will's room. 

"He is a child, therefore the world is quite simple, while being complicated at the same time. You left, and he didn't understand why, some part of him probably comprehended that there was a danger, and he left you to that danger. William is not going to follow up with the greater complexities of that situation, knowing that you would protect him with your life. As far as he sees it, whether he knows it or not, he abandoned you as much as you, appeared to, abandon him."

"Oh God," Greg said. 

"And with the same simplicity, you have rectified the situation. Despite the fact that he will no doubt, in the future, feel occasionally embarrassed by the intensity of the feelings he has for you now, he is an alpha bonded to you, it's the most important thing in his life; probably more so now that he had been without it for some time."

Greg blinked as he stared at Mycroft. 

"Is that why you're awful to you mother occasionally?" 

Mycroft winced, Gregory was, again, one step ahead in the conversation. Mycroft knew how Will was feeling, because he had been there. 

"Perhaps, although the situation is not entirely comparable. In the same respect I resented Sherlock, and Sherlock with his nature as a beta did not feel a similar bond. He naturally loves our mother, but he has the ability to perhaps be, in some ways, more dispassionate about it."

"And that annoys you." 

"It does, I suppose."

"He just... I can't..." Greg didn't know anything beyond those words. Instead he leant against Mycroft, reaching up to cling onto his shirt as Will had done not long ago. Mycroft let it happen, the fact that Greg wanted to hang onto him reassured him. He had found Mycroft's scent reassuring, from the moment that he had been rescued it clearly grounded him, but the physical contact had not always been welcome.

"I believe William is reassured, more than you imagine," Mycroft said leading a clinging Greg down the hallway. He caught movement on the stairs, just out of the corner of his eye, as his father tactfully retreated, leaving them alone. As they walked, slowly, Greg instinctively paused to glance into Nathanial's room and then he stopped as they reached the nursery. Greg stepped to the doorway to stare in at the little girl. Mycroft followed him, watching the baby sleep peacefully. 

The baby had slid into their lives with ease. Mycroft hadn't found any aspect of her existence disturbing. Gregory clearly did but he had been the one who had suffered the aspects of her conception. 

"You didn't have to... the baby's name." 

Mycroft frowned. "The only unfortunate aspect of that is at some point soon everyone, including you, will start calling her George."

Greg frowned back, the look in his eyes clearly trying to work out if Mycroft was being deliberate in his misunderstanding. He was a little, because it would annoy Greg, and that was, he realised, a good thing. The more he did it, the more Greg behaved like himself. 

"I meant the surname. She's not really a Holmes is she?" 

"If you are going to be technical about it, maybe not; but being pedantic will only confuse the children, which seems unfair."

"You can't hide it from them." 

Mycroft eased Greg closer to him, putting his guiding arm around his omega's shoulders.

"Again perhaps not, but like I said, quibbling over it seems nothing more than pedantic, and I don't want the children having any reason to be confused."

"You mean you don't want Will finding another excuse to..." Greg tailed off, he glanced at Mycroft, and then looked back at the baby. 

"Perhaps not," Mycroft conceded. "It is clear that William is having the most problems with this scenario. Nathanial is too young to comprehend, as is Georgina. But she is going to grow up in this house, as part of this family. If we ever need to discuss the situation with them, then we will deal with that as it arises. On the other hand, when it comes to that point, they will be older, and time may have healed some wounds." 

"Not all of them," Greg said flatly, slightly accusingly. He also tensed, but Mycroft didn't let him pull away. 

"To presume that things would go back to exactly as they were is foolish. What happened, has happened, and there will always be some part of you affected by it. Which goes for all of us." 

Greg blinked, his eyes moving from Georgina to Mycroft. 

"Come on, there is something we need to do. It seems like a relevant time to do so." 

"What?" asked Greg with some dread as Mycroft drew him away from the nursery and walked him down the hallway towards the stairs. As they reached the lower floor Mr Holmes appeared in the doorway leading to the kitchen. 

"Dinner is almost ready." 

"I need a few more minutes," Mycroft said turning Greg in the other direction towards the large study that lay on the west side of the house. He felt Greg tense again but Mycroft eased him forward. He had the study upstairs, but that was a small room, used by him for convenience when he needed to watch over someone upstairs. If he was working from home during the day, which he had often done over the last eighteen months, he stayed in the large study downstairs. 

He sat Greg down on the nearest chair, by the desk and picked up the papers that had sat there since he had reacquired his omega. There were things he could not ignore about their relationship and it's current complications. 

"It's just some formalities, the necessary papers." 

"What?" 

Mycroft laid the first one in front of Greg. "The formal familial responsibility. You have technically, understandably, rejected your child's paternal alpha, and I presume you have taken a substitute, it is the form to legally state that you have done so, and that I have agreed." 

His signature was already on the piece of paper. 

"Oh," Greg said. Mycroft didn't need to launch into his long list of sensible reasons for doing so, Greg was already reaching for one of the pens on Mycroft's desk to sign the piece of paper with a shaking hand. He also decided to not tell Greg the technicalities of the agreement. Moriarty couldn't get any legal responsibility for the child, but Mycroft had left it that Greg could take sole responsibility for Georgina, if he wished, but Mycroft had made sure that it contained his responsibility for Greg's financial security. Considering that Greg was signing without question made Mycroft think that perhaps those things should be left alone, if Greg trusted the agreement he had written.

He probably wasn't thinking that straight, but he understood the basics. Greg did not want Moriarty anywhere near Georgina, the fact that he trusted Mycroft to be able to do that gave Mycroft the confidence to put the second legal document in front of Greg. Quite clearly, since he reared back, blinking owlishly in shock, Greg recognised at least part of the first sheet. 

"That is the formal agreement between an omega and alpha," Mycroft said, just to clarify. 

"Because of Georgina, another four years?" 

"No," Mycroft said, pushing the paper closer, unnecessarily, but his shaking hand needed to do something. "Permanently. This is a permanent contract." 

"Oh," said Greg. Mycroft might have taken that as something like hesitation except Greg was already signing. It momentarily made him wonder if Greg would have signed anything that was put in front of him. When the first contract had been offered, while Greg was under house arrest at the omega centre, he had scrutinized the document, reading every last word, and getting clarification on some of the wording. Greg stared down at the paper, but Mycroft knew he wasn't reading it. Eventually Greg looked up, then down at his signature, then up again. 

"Are you sure?" 

"Perfectly," said Mycroft. "I think we are mature enough to understand what that might mean and I would prefer you to be there for the children." 

Greg nodded. "Yes, I'd... like that." He tentatively pushed the paper towards Mycroft, and the alpha realised he had missed something rather important from that comment. 

"And I would like it... also." 

"Really?" Greg asked. "Moriarty said he had ruined me." 

Mycroft suppressed the surge of rage he felt, and decided not to point out all the careful, helpful, clauses he had put into the contract, to allow Greg to retreat if he ever wanted to. But it retained a permanent commitment on Mycroft's part whatever Greg chose to do. Moriarty had been right in the fact that Greg had given Mycroft what he wanted, he had two children of his own, and another one he had taken responsibility for. 

That part was an undeniable truth. What Moriarty had failed to add to that was Mycroft's sense of responsibility. This omega had produced those children, therefore, Mycroft had a responsibility to him, just as much as he did to the children. Or at least that was how he saw it. Plus, there were further things that he couldn't interpret. He remembered denying his interest in Greg to Sherlock, but he couldn't deny that he had got used to have Greg around, carelessly cluttering up the place in something of a haphazard fashion, getting irritated with him for reasons that took Mycroft weeks to comprehend. He always said that caring was not an advantage, and he couldn't deny the truth of that comment, and there were moments, a good number of them, when he regretted the fact he did care, but it was there. There and utterly un-ignorable.

"Are you all right?" 

"I think I might have invented a new word," Mycroft said as he came out of his musing. Greg looked confused but didn't ask Mycroft to elaborate. "I will have the documents filed with the relevant authorities in the morning."

"Are you sure?" Greg asked again, his voice tentative. Mycroft tided the pile of papers, unnecessarily as they were already neat enough, however he felt like doing something, which meant he didn't necessarily have to look at Greg. 

"Very." It was something he was very certain of, at least in himself. What he wasn't so sure of was Greg, who could, when he recovered a little more, might regret signing without question. Mycroft had never asked how long Greg might want to stay in the arrangement. He would certainly always want to be involved with the children and so far the termination of a four year contract had never been contended as he had carried again before that. Then there had been the kidnap and the clear need to care for him in the aftermath. That part was all obvious now. 

Prior to that Greg had never said anything about leaving, and he had always seemed content enough. But again, had he just wanted to breed, and concern himself with the children, rather than bother to consider a long term contract. Considering the speed with which he had signed Mycroft wondered, if it had been on his mind. He didn't feel brave enough to ask. Maybe something in Greg just wanted to feel secure, perhaps it was something he really wanted. Mycroft didn't want to question it, and he had no intention of telling anyone, at least for the moment; he would be accused of taking advantage of Greg's vulnerable state, which was most certainly not his intention. However, many of his intentions often got misinterpreted, so he was entirely used to that. 

Only Greg seemed to be able to make sense of them. He hadn't made a fuss about the microchip, he hadn't wanted to be over indulged after the miscarriage. In fact he just let Mycroft get on with his own level of care, without worrying too much, knowing his needs would be seen to. Greg had learnt to be independent, and Mycroft hadn't ever wanted to take that away from him. It was more convenient for him, Mycroft then didn't need to pay him that much attention. 

Still, he had ended up doing so. And now Greg needed it. He needed the attention, by the way Greg reacted to the contracts, signing without question just showed how compliant he had been made. Or maybe, Mycroft thought to himself, Greg had been waiting for that moment, even before he had been taken by Moriarty. 

"Are you inventing new words again?" Greg asked, his voice slightly stressed. Mycroft snapped himself back from his thoughts. Now was hardly the time to be having them. 

"Not exactly. I presume dinner is almost ready."

"Are you sure?" Greg asked again as Mycroft helped him to his feet. 

"Mother tends to be fairly accurate with timing." 

"No!" Greg snapped. "I mean the..." 

Mycroft took Greg's elbow, steering him towards the door. He didn't want to extend this conversation further, and Gregory probably didn't either. 

"Yes, perfectly sure."


	11. Chapter Ten

Mycroft felt the tension in Greg the moment they passed out of the driveway and onto the road. He said nothing, focusing on driving while assessing Greg out of the corner of his eye. The children were strapped in the back, Georgina staring out of the window at the passing scenery, a huge contrast to Will, who often slept on journeys, and appeared now to be fighting that instinct with every cell of his being. He looked out of the window, but mostly he kept his eyes on Greg, suspecting, but not immediately understanding, Greg's nerves. Will had not been closeted after the kidnapping. Moriarty had taken what he wanted. Mycroft saw the logic, adults were easier to deal with than containing a stressed, frightened child. Moriarty had given Greg time to get rid of his son before he had been taken. Will was not in danger, at any time. 

Will's known reactions was the reason that Mycroft had placed his eldest child directly behind the driver's seat, so he had a clear view of Greg and would feel happy about that. In the middle seat Nathanial was engaged in a mission to try and get his shoes and socks off, for some reason best known to himself, and he appeared to be fixedly doing so. He grappled at his feet, pulled at his laces and shoes; and one fell off, which caused Nathanial to wave his foot in delight. Will eyed him with disgust and Georgina seemed oblivious to both her brothers. Mycroft made no issue of any of it. It would give Greg something to do when they reached their location. 

Baker Street. 

They could have perhaps driven to John and Mary's nice little terraced house, and gone into the garden and sat about very neatly, and drunk tea. But Mycroft decided, in fact he now knew, cutting hard and deep would work. Baker Street had been the place of Greg's kidnapping, it had also been the place Greg had regularly taken Will when Sherlock was 'dead'. It might be the reason that Moriarty chose it. Greg hadn't wanted to exclude Mrs Hudson, he had taken Will to see her before anyone else, and she had loved him and loved the attention and not minded the intrusion as they took it upon themselves to use the apartment. 

This was going to be hard. To re-introduce Greg back into that. But to his credit, Mycroft never shirked from any difficult tasks. 

Mycroft knew that, just as he realised Greg knew exactly where they were going when he had suggested the trip out. There was no point in hiding it, in fact that could only cause a negative reaction. So Mycroft had told him and Greg had nodded, able to deal with it in theory. Now he was seeing it in reality, and Greg tensed and relaxed in equal measures and Mycroft had to ignore him. He was driving, and he also couldn't get to Greg unless Greg let him. 

"Daddy!" Will snapped, pointing at Nathanial, who had got a shoe and sock off one foot and his sock flopped on the other. 

"Yes?" Mycroft asked. 

"You've got out of your pants in similar circumstances," Greg announced reaching over to pull the remaining sock off Nathanial's right foot. "Who are you telling off?" 

Will exhaled. 

"Don't pout at me." 

"Daddy!"

And both his parents knew, Will knew, he understood and that was what Mycroft found painful about his own childhood, that people thought he wouldn't understand. 

"No one is going to take daddy," Mycroft said, which caused Greg to eye in him concern. "The man that did that is gone, and you and daddy have to come here, to make him really go away."

Will's expression darkened. He flailed Bee but did not let him go. 

"Don't do that," Greg said. "Don't upset him, this is about me."

"As if he doesn't know where you were kidnapped from. It's about him as well, he was the one that was here, that had to leave you," Mycroft said. "We had this discussion. You are safe." 

"You're here, God help me, that leaves me feeling safe." 

"Thank you, I think."

"It's also your fault. If I wasn't your omega, I wouldn't be dealing with this, it would be someone else." 

"Meaning?" Mycroft said he pulled into Baker Street, and he wanted to get parked, he did not need to be having this conversation while watching the roads. 

"You would be dealing with someone else, it was whoever you chose for your omega who would go through this. I used to think that it was better me than someone else." 

"I am not going to ignore this, but perhaps lets have the children happy in the flat and stuffing their face on Mrs Hudson's cakes before we go through this.." 

"Agreed. And I'm all right." 

"We often disagree, on that we certainly do." 

Greg turned his head away to look out of the window at the familiar, and somewhat terrifying scenery. 

"No, we don't," Greg said, as Mycroft parked the car. It took him a little longer than Greg would have done. He had always been the better driver, Mycroft was too used to being chauffeured about, he often had trouble manoeuvring the car. 

"Do you want me to do it?" Greg asked as Mycroft reversed back to bring his wheels in closer alignment with the kerb. 

"No," Mycroft said moving forward slightly and positioning himself into the parking space as fastidiously as he did everything else. 

"Okay," Greg said, eyeing the job Mycroft was performing with some amusement. 

"We need to get these ridiculous children out of the car," Mycroft said, glancing behind him to a bare-footed Nathanial, a gurgling Georgina and a very pensive looking Will, whose face was half hidden behind Bee. 

"They are not ridiculous Mycroft, they are just children," Greg snapped, reaching for the door handle and opening it. For the first time since his kidnap Greg put his feet onto the Baker Street pavement. He wavered on his feet as he looked around, then he decided to focus on something more reassuring. 

Georgina was the nearest child as he opened the back door. His daughter stared up at him with wide eyes, smiling slightly as he reached for her. He glanced up at Will, who stared at Greg with anxious eyes which would occasionally flicker around. Mycroft seemed aware of the same thing, he went to Will's door and opened it up, unfastening the little boy from his car seat and carrying him round to Greg, putting Will on the pavement next to him. Will tucked Bee under one arm and then grabbed Greg with his now free, tiny, hand. Greg let him, Will looked around and Greg tried not to, instead he concentrated on Georgina, until Mrs Hudson came trotting out of 221b. 

"Oh goodness, isn't she just adorable!" 

No one but the immediate family had seen Georgina, and everyone, although never blaming the baby, had been looking at her through slightly pensive eyes. Now, via Mrs Hudson's eyes she became nothing more than a pretty little baby girl swathed up in pink. Georgina fixed her eyes on Mrs Hudson and gave a vague, drooling smile. 

"She must have wind, bless her," Mrs Hudson said taking her off Greg. Will pressed tighter to his side, leaving Greg ineffectual for a moment. Mycroft removed Nathanial from the car, with bare feet. There was just too much effort in trying to re-clothe the little boy in the car. Mycroft swung Nathanial onto his hip in what looked like such a natural gesture it pulled Greg out of his temporary torpor. 

"I'll get his shoes and socks," Greg said. Nathanial waved his bare feet. Will continued to hang on as Greg rummaged in the car for the offending items. As he straightened up again, the socks and shoes in his hand, Sherlock had appeared on the pavement next to them, and had been handed Nathanial. Sherlock held the child at arm's length, staring at him uncertainly. 

"What do I do with this?!" 

"If you would be so good as to take your nephew," Mycroft stressed that, "Indoors, we have some business to conclude out here. No doubt Mrs Hudson can assist you." 

"I certainly hope so," Sherlock said turning to walk the short distance down the pavement, still holding Nathanial away from him. Nathanial looked around, still waving his bare feet in delight. 

"Is he all right with him?" Greg asked feeling somewhat concerned at the way his youngest son was being manhandled. 

"Sherlock can cope, he went on YouTube to learn how to fold napkins for a wedding when he was best man, no doubt he had done just as much research when he discovered he was an uncle, he just likes people to think he's remote and incompetent socially." 

As if Mycroft's words were the cue, as Sherlock reached the steps, he put Nathanial on his hip in a very familiar gesture, and carried him indoors. 

"Did you watch the same videos?" Greg asked, since it had looked so strikingly similar. 

"Possibly," Mycroft said. "I mostly watched you." 

Greg said nothing to that, Mycroft locked the car and Greg stood on the pavement, looking around. Will was pressing hard against Greg's legs in the hint he would not be so easily removed. The plan Mycroft had involved him. He needed everyone else out of the way, and they had obliged. 

He let Greg look around. That was all he needed to do, he watched the flickering emotions pass over Greg's face as he looked around, seeing things that perhaps Mycroft couldn't. Greg reached down to take Will's hand, arranging them so they could walk down the pavement, and both Greg and Will stopped at the same time, looking around again. 

Mycroft reached out to take Greg's arm and he waited. 

The street looked oddly offensive to Greg, he stared at the spot he had been stood in when Moriarty had appeared from the sleek dark car. Greg stared at the paving stone aware of Will pressed close to him. Greg put a hand on his head, feeling the thick, soft, hair. It grounded him while his mind replayed the scene. 

XxxxxxxxxxxxxX

"A little Gregory, or is he a Mycroft. How tight up the arse is he?"

Greg had pushed Will behind him, hand on his head as it was now. Moriarty eyed Greg's distended belly, while Greg looked around for some help, or witnesses, but the street seemed ominously empty. 

"Or is that rumble in your belly a sign of things to come?"

"You can't do this." 

Moriarty looked around and shrugged. "I can. It's not your lesson, you have no need to learn anything, you're going to teach, is your little Mycroft going to do the same."

"No! Leave him alone." 

"I will if you do." 

"Go tell Mrs Hudson, she left the oven on, she needs to tell Daddy that. Tell her, run Will, run!" 

Greg had turned round to grab Will. 

"Go and knock on the door, as hard as you can. We need daddy now! You need to run away, go now..." Greg hadn't seen Will by then, his eyes were blurred by he tears. "Run. Do as you are told! Go to the door and tell her, she left the oven on, and it's burning. Say it to me." 

The fact that Will repeated it back spoke volumes. He knew the codes, Mycroft had taught him, and that was the moment Greg let go. Mycroft had taught his son the wording he needed, he hadn't just told Greg. When had that happened? Greg asked himself, let go of his son and kicked him into a run, realising the urgency, not knowing that it was not the visual situation that had translated the urgency to Will, it was Mycroft's teaching that had done so.

The fact was...

XxxxxxxxxxxxxX

"I knew you were in danger, you were all in danger the moment you tied yourself to me." 

"That did not include your son! And Moriarty!" Greg yelled as he stood on the pavement, the one that continued to be offensive by not even remembering them being there. There was nothing to mark it other than memory, and the current argument. Will wrapped himself around Greg's legs, and Bee was pressed into Greg's stomach. 

"It's all right little man," Greg said gently. "I'm just..." 

Mycroft crouched down. "Daddy was here with you, and you ran to Mrs Hudson, to tell me what was wrong. I couldn't get to daddy, but daddy wanted you to be safe first. Do you understand William, you came first, always, you come first."

"Yes," Will said, into the safety of Greg's thigh. 

"No, he doesn't." 

"Yes, he does," Mycroft said patiently, staring at his son, their eyes locked together, so painfully, because this was what Mycroft always fought. He just needed to continue his bloodline, he didn't need to get involved, he hadn't meant to. He thought Greg, as his omega, would stay as separate as he wanted to be. That was what Mycroft had thought, it was probably what Greg had through, what his experience had told him. Mycroft had planned to rely on that self-reliant experience of Greg's. 

"I was wrong, that's why daddy got taken away, because I was wrong." 

And Greg answered that ever so eloquently. 

"Jesus, fucking, Christ!"


	12. Chapter Eleven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This story seems to have been brought to a natural end, so this is where I will leave it.

He didn't want to start a row in the middle of Baker Street. It was not what this trip was about. Greg exhaled, then dragged in a deep breath. William remained latched onto him and Mycroft stood by, waiting for the storm to crash into him or pass overhead. It was something he couldn't seem to predict; how Greg might react. He didn't try to. 

"It just looks normal," Greg repeated the observation. 

"It is rare that anywhere leaves a clear trace."

"Thank you, I'm aware of that," Greg snapped. 

"I know." 

Greg glared and looked around again. It was where it happened, but there was nothing, and nothing that worried him about the situation. All the work had been done, in his head, to clear it from his mind. He didn't think Mycroft was entirely aware of that. When situations had cropped up Mycroft had dealt with them and slowly fixed the randomly split jigsaw in Greg's mind. William's hands clenched tighter. 

"This child seems to be broken," Sherlock announced returning down the steps with Nathanial back at arms length. As Sherlock returned to the group of people on the pavement, Nathanial whimpered and kicked his legs, wriggling in a way that told Greg the problem. 

"He needs his nappy changing. I presume you haven't looked that one up on YouTube." 

John had followed Sherlock and took Nathanial out of Sherlock's hands. 

"He ran away from the computer," he said before walking off with Nathanial, taking him back into the house. Greg snorted with laughter, Sherlock glowered at him. 

"Aren't you meant to be traumatized," Sherlock said rudely. 

"It appears not. You fixed me quite well, Shane," Greg smirked. Sherlock looked offended and flounced back into the house. 

"He's bound to go and change Nathanial's nappy now." 

"Mycroft." 

"I apologise. Sherlock is not the important thing here." 

"I'm all right, you know that." 

"I didn't, but I do now. It seemed unwise to predict your reaction to this." 

"Could you predict my reaction to anything?" 

"Not really. Only Nathanial, that time I knew you couldn't ignore him." 

"Bastard." 

"Effective bastard," Mycroft corrected. 

"Indeed." 

Greg looked around again and relaxed. There was no trace of what happened and it was never going to happen again. Moriarty was gone; he had been taken for a reason and that reason was now safely ensconced in Baker Street. Despite the veil of threats he had used, keeping Greg away from his alpha, and using that threat to hamper Sherlock's investigation, it was more due to Moriarity's desire to reproduce and keep that offspring safe. Using a Holmes omega was the fun of it. And Greg clenched his jaw when his mind tried to pull him back to that year but then Mycroft's strong scent riddled his senses and that calmed him just as much as frenzied him. 

"All right, let's go in, no doubt Mrs Hudson has baked muffins," Greg said. 

"15 different kinds if her facebook page is anything to go by." 

"Mycroft?" 

"Agree to..." 

"Agree." 

XxxxxxxxxxxxxX

Human resilience.

Mycroft had no equal in Greg. He always came back. The people around him helped but Gregory in himself was magnificent. Whatever happened there was something in him that didn't die. He sat in Sherlock's living room, containing children, chatting to John and behaving as if nothing had ever happened. 

He wasn't ignoring it. Too many events had occurred for that to happen. One consequence sat on the floor at his feet, absorbedly playing with a chunky jigsaw puzzle, cracking the thick pieces of wood together. William played a little further away, glaring occasionally at his younger sister then glancing up at Greg. Nathanial sat next to Will, his socks back on his feet, clearly aware of his older siblings feelings. The younger boy stayed quiet, doing as Will bid him without any rancour. 

Greg was ready with a stern word to any of the children if they misbehaved, but he didn't think it was likely to happen. 

"Now tea!" Mrs Hudson said brightly. Who hadn't even bothered to point out she wasn't the housekeeper, and instead had taken over Sherlock's kitchen to make tea, pour juice and put out snacks. Will perked up at the sight of the muffins. Nathanial lifted his head, staring curiously. 

"Lovely," John said. Sherlock raised his eyebrows examining the whole ritual curiously as John helped Mrs Hudson unload the tray and put the muffins on the coffee table. Both little boys swivelled on their bottoms to turn and watch. Will pointed at a muffin studded with chunks of chocolate. 

"That one." 

"And we say what?" Greg asked. 

"Please," Will said, his voice muffled as he put his thumb in his mouth. Normally Greg would have told him off, but considering what they had done today, he let is slide. Mycroft frowned, but said nothing. Greg ignored the frown, he felt very acutely aware of everyone moving around him, most especially Mycroft, who was gauging every reaction he had. It couldn't be helped, Mycroft had been doing that their entire relationship, to make sure he did what he was meant to do, what he had been taught to do when looking after an omega. 

That was before, to make sure he behaved correctly for the omega he had chosen. Now he was doing it with an entirely different scheme in mind. For Greg. Because he was the most important thing. 

Mycroft would probably snort at the concept of being in love. But Greg guessed, whatever he had done to Mycroft was the closest thing that was ever going to happen. He had, for so long, defined himself by his work, defying the convention of his caste. Mycroft had dragged that out of him, not exactly kicking and screaming but with a subtlety that actually impressed Greg, as it also allowed him to still work. Sometimes with the police, sometimes with Sherlock, often with both and now and again Mycroft as well. 

Suffice to say, Greg was never bored.

Not being bored was a very good thing.


End file.
